The Mysteries of Marcie Fleach: Chapter 16-Gamble and Gambit
by Sketchpad
Summary: As Greenman prepares for his triumphant return to the world stage, Marcie and the gang risk their friendship, and their lives, in one last push to learn what he is planning, before they are too late to stop it.
1. Chapter 1

_1~_

 _Several days prior..._

There was the usual ebb and flow of human traffic, settling, surging and settling, again, within Crystal Cove Hospital, with concerns, both major and minor, being attended to.

A woman carrying her shoulder bag stepped through the sliding doors and walked into the foyer, studying the activity in the more sedate lobby, people waiting while watching television.

She strolled up to the receptionist's desk and asked the employee on-duty "Excuse me, sir. Would you happen to know where your restrooms are?"

Inwardly, the man saw the question as the set-up to a joke, and thought to say, "Yes, I do," and then, leave it at that, as the punch line, but saw the rudeness in that, and simply answered, "Yes, ma'am, down this hall and to the right."

The woman nodded, thankfully, said, "Thank you," and then, proceeded down the hall.

She entered the bathroom and locked the door behind her, looking around the room. She soon found what she sought, a ventilation grate on a high corner of a wall.

The woman approached the vent, reaching into her bag, at the same time, producing a battery-powered drill capped with a ratchet head small enough to grip the small screws that held the grate against the wall.

With quiet applications of the drill, the grill fell into her free hand, and was placed on a nearby sink.

The woman stepped back to admire her work, and with the dark mouth of the vent open to her, she reached over with her left hand, gripped her right forearm, and detached it cleanly from her elbow with a twist.

She held the limb up to the vent, where it, suddenly, twitched as if a separate, living thing, held on to the edge of the metal opening with magnetic fingertips, and pulled itself deep inside, guided by an intelligence all its own.

As it disappeared in the hospital's ventilation system, the woman reached into her large bag, again, and pulled forth another right forearm, which she twisted into working position against the interface socket of her right elbow.

She then put the grate back into its place on the wall, closing off the mobile arm, and then, she left the bathroom.

While that had happened, in the men's bathroom, a similar task had been performed by another 'patron'. The arm navigated the duct work via a separate computer/sensor array in the hand that scanned, studied, and recorded the labyrinthine vent system, ahead.

Magnetic fingers helped it along the shafts when it needed to go vertically, either up or down, until finally, it reached the floor that it was seeking, and after yards more travel, entered the vent of the hospital room that it was programmed for.

The hand quietly crawled up to the room's grate, like a stalking spider, and then, inched its hand up along the center of the grillwork. Then, it began its work.

In the forearm, where the bulk of its machinery sat, was a fluid tank in its rear, a pump mechanism leading from it, a heating chamber after that, and lastly, a miniature ventilation system that ran from it, to a small exhaust port in the center of the palm.

With that palm held flush against the grate, a clear mist started to exude from the port in slow, tiny clouds, and flow out into the air of the room.

Directly below the vent, a child rested in her bed, unaware that she was being killed by slow measures, and in the course of the next few days, the two Questoids would continue to enter the restrooms and release weaponized forearms into the ventilation system of the hospital, until every hospital room had a secret assassin sitting over their victims, in the darkness.

* * *

Deep dish pizza was readily devoured by the encircling gang, sitting in their usual booth in Rude Pizza, like a pack of hunting dogs around a fresh kill. Marcie, with a grin, tore into her slices with a gusto fueled by ambition born of the confidence of a workable plan coming into sharp focus and pending success.

"Well, this must be a new record for longest self-congratulatory grin ever attempted, not counting sleep," Daisy jibed, after noticing that private smile on her friend's face.

Marcie lifted her head from her feeding to address her good-natured ribbing. "Can I help it if we're so close to breaking this mystery wide open?"

She gave a contrite smile to Red, to ease what was said, next. "No offense, Red, but having that misguided machine coming after you was a gift from Heaven."

"Whatever," he muttered, just happy to have his aunt safe, and all of that danger receding far in the rear view mirror of the past.

"Oh, don't be like that," Marcie happily said. "We now have the key we need to enter Quest's last inner sanctum, learn his and Greenman's secrets, and undo all of their plans."

That reply sounded contradictory to Jason, who asked, "Why do you think this is his last base? From what you told us, he had tons of places to hole up in."

"That was the case, until his pal Greenman, literally, changed everything," Marcie explained. "With the old history dead and gone, the events that made Quest into a criminal super-scientist, disappeared with it, along with all of the hidden labs he secretly built, outside of town. Just his luck that the lab that our departed Questoid came from was built in the one place that didn't change with the rest of history, and that he was in it when all of that happened."

"So, it _is_ his last base," said Daisy.

"Correct, and we'll never get a better chance to search for clues, than this one, friends! Think about it! Greenman and Quest will never suspect that one of their robots is such a major security leak!"

"I don't know," Jason mumbled, meekly. Things were going too fast for him. "Couldn't we just hack their base's network? I mean, we don't have to, actually, be inside there, do we?"

His timidity was, of course, lost on Marcie's enthusiasm. "Of course we do, Jason, but put a pin in the hacking idea. We can always get more info that way, too, if we have to. Oh, I love having options!"

Marcie was so giddy with thoughts of upsetting the two heinous men's apple cart and thoroughly outsmarting them, that she completely missed the sheepish looks being passed between Red, Daisy and Jason's faces.

"Um, we can't go, Marcie," Jason said, hating to be the bearer of bad news and slightly wilting from the reaction that he knew that she was going to give.

"Sure you can, Jason," Marcie coaxed. "We'll be careful, I promise."

"No," Red clarified for Jason. "He said that _we_ can go with you, Marcie."

Marcie's misunderstanding thought processes came to a halt. Now that the meaning of that was suddenly clear to her, she came to ask, "How come?"

Daisy spoke up. "We knew that you would want to do something like this, so we talked about it, last night. While we all agree that the idea sounds good, we don't think that we can help you with this, right now. With everybody in town nervous about what's going on in the world, and with what happened with Red's Aunt Hedda, yesterday, we decided that we should probably stay closer to our families, right now, to help see them through this."

Marcie almost shook her head in disbelief. The timing for this couldn't have been worse if Greenman and Quest planned it, themselves. Fate had given them a true gift, now was _not_ to the time to squander it.

"But, guys, you have to come and help me out," she beseeched them. "We're so close to learning what we can about what Greenman is doing. He stole time travel tech to change the past, we know this, but it can't be the only thing he's done. I'm telling you, he has to be planning more, and whatever it is, will most likely do more harm than good. Heck, by changing history, he already destroyed parts of yours and everybody else's families, by indirectly changing their personal histories, which either changed them, or eliminated them from history, altogether."

The shock in her friends' eyes, as the truth of that kind of environment settled over them, shot a pang of regret into Marcie. She didn't want to burden their already worrying hearts with such things, but she needed to impress upon them the seriousness and urgency of the moment, because that was how they would be living, under Greenman's auspices, now, from moment to moment.

They glanced at each other, in silent conference, and then, as one, they quietly shook their heads, taking Marcie's scenario to heart and holding firm to the families that they had left, even if their non-action could threaten them, as well.

Still, she persisted. "I promise that if you help me, then after this, I'll never ask for your help, or disrupt your lives, ever again," she implored, so needful was she for them to join her at the hip on this.

Red sighed. Seeing her like this was disheartening, even for him. "We understand how you feel, Marcie, but this is more important. Besides, I think we did more than enough to help bring that Velma girl and the others back," he reasoned. "Our families have to come first, now."

"Yeah," Jason added. "I mean, you can't blame us for feeling that way, although I will keep trying to access that prototype head for you."

Crestfallen, she knew their answer, but Marcie felt like asking, anyway, just to put a cap on this sorry scene. "Is that's your final say on the matter?"

"I'm afraid so," Daisy said, nodding glumly. "I'm sorry."

Marcie silently looked into their eyes, trying to mentally size them up for further persuasion, but it was a fool's errand. She faced danger with them enough to know their hearts, saw their determination when it led them, and watch them stand beside her in battle, in other dimensions, no less.

Even if they were conceivably wrong for denying her, Marcie knew that she couldn't possibly force them to do anything that they didn't want to do. So, she wisely closed the subject, and slid out from her end of the booth, dejected.

"Where are you going?" Jason asked her, as they watched Marcie head for the front doors.

"I've got a few things to do while you hack into that head, and then, I'm going to go out and stop Greenman, on my own, if I have to," she answered, evenly.

"By yourself?" Daisy asked, incredulously, hoping that the younger girl was just being emotional. "C'mon, Marcie, don't be like this. You know we're on your side. Look, things are just getting a little crazy, that's all. Why don't you just patch things up with your dad and be with him?"

Marcie gave them all a glum glance. "Why do you think I'm doing all of this?" she asked, before she left them and the pizzeria behind.


	2. 2

2~

Perched high on Ludgate Hill, one of three ancient peaks that overlooked the sprawl of London, England, The First Temple of the Sacred Grove began as the Old St. Paul's Cathedral, which was traditionally thought to have been built over a Roman temple dedicated to Diana.

It was a visual triumph of preserved, soaring Gothic design, and, taking a page from the Christianity of the old timeline, the pagans took over the existing place of worship and repurposed it to serve their faith, deciding it to be the best place to hold court over all of Druidry. As a result, its wide churchyard was turned into an oak forest in miniature, used by white robed druids for contemplation and meditation.

Due to its role as the religious seat of the Druid world, its protection was dictated by a wall that ringed the hill's expanse, and then, in more modern times, it was, eventually, sectioned from the rest of London and became its own ecclesiastical state, so that, as Vatican City would have been, in Rome, Ludgate Hill became the home of the sovereignty of Ludgate City.

With its tight confines, space was at a premium for the administrative, governmental, archival and scholastic buildings that flanked The Temple, with the residential and commercial blocks, and private gardens for the highest priests and functionaries, taking up the space of the highest point of the hill.

In one such ornate administrative building, called the Council Conclave, an aloof Greenman was present in its main hall, having been called to a meeting there among the council members to discuss his grievance, which was seen as amusing and ridiculous to some, and downright blasphemous to the rest.

The Speaker of the Conclave, an elderly man in gleaming white and gilded robes, stood by his podium and addressed Greenman, the tone of his voice clearly indicating that he brooked insolence from no one.

"Everest Greenman," the Speaker said, his words reverberating against the meeting hall. "Two weeks ago, you came to us, from America, with a claim that was as incredible as it was unsubstantiated, the claim that you are _the_ Everest Greenman of legend, the rescuer of our pagan faith, the so-called Undying Pagan Emperor. Do you refute this?"

"No," Greenman said, amidst skeptical grumblings in the hall.

"Bartholomew Essex, come before us." the Speaker commanded.

A mousey man in a brown suit stepped forward from his seat off to the side of the room, to stand next to Greenman.

"Bartholomew Essex, two weeks ago, when you came to us, you stated that you were a descendant of one of Greenman's closest and trusted men. Do you refute this?"

"No, sir," Bartholomew said, meekly, cowed by the drama of the hall.

The Speaker looked out before the two men. "Because of this, during those two weeks, the Council decided to test the validity of both of your cases. Genealogical records do support Essex's claim of lineage, but more than that, it's what he brought before us that prompted this meeting, today."

He glanced over to a waiting functionary, who walked to a chest on a nearby table.

"This man, Essex, produced a chest that had within it a single item," the Speaker, looking at Greenman, told him, as the functionary opened the chest and pulled out a long object. "An old sword wrapped in cloth, which he says is called The Birthright Blade. Essex said that this blade would tell the world who you are, and seat you as our Hierophant, our highest priest and true emissary of the gods."

The raucous jeers and grumbles rose in volume and length, until the Speaker ordered for quiet, and then regarded Greenman, again.

"It is because of such a boast, that you have been summoned to our august presence…to be acknowledged...as our long-awaited Hierophant," he announced, his voice falling.

The hall boomed like a huge bell, as the council could hear no more of this farce, and let their feelings be known with yells, insults and outrage.

Again, the Speaker raised his voice, sounding like a peal of thunder lashing out, for order, which the assembly, reluctantly gave.

"We tested the sword, as well," he continued. "Metallurgical analysis proved that the sword did come from the late Fifteenth Century, just after the scourge of the Black Plague, and more incredible, still, DNA analysis of the blood on the blade showed and confirmed that your blood was an exact match. How did this happen?"

Greenman confidently turned to face the doubting room, and raised his voice to claim his due. "Before I left, I told my men that I would return in the future, but proof would be needed for me to claim my right to rule. Since the gods blessed me immortality, I bade one of them, an Essex, to stab me with that sword and to have him, and his children, and their children's children, to guard over it, until this very day."

The grumbles resumed, but at a lower, more thoughtful pitch, as the least skeptical among them, began to entertain the idea of their immortal champion coming back to lead them, once more.

He turned back to the Speaker, now casting him an accusatory glare, to let him know that, at that moment, the roles had been irrevocably reversed, and this Speaker would now answer to _him_.

"I have come to claim what I defended England and our faith for, and I've come not a moment too soon. I've seen what has happened to Druidry in my absence. The old ways are not being observed. The bond between the faithful and the gods are not bound by blood, anymore. Why?"

For the first time in the meeting, or perhaps, even in his career, the Speaker spoke softly, almost obsequiously. "Forgive me for sounding facetious, my Hierophant, but time had changed in your absence...the faith changed under the influence of divergent cultures and peace. But, there are still many, like you, like _us_ , who long for the old ways of blood and worship."

"Then, it's a good thing that I'm here, now," said Greenman, tersely. "I'm working on something back in the States that will let them all know, traditionalists and those misguided neo-pagans, that I have not forgotten."

He rounded on the uncertain Council, and sternly commanded, "Tell the news services, tell the _world_ , you so-called Council, that I have returned, and the old ways have returned with me!"

* * *

Through her goggles, Marcie took another glance out of the science classroom's windows. She knew that she could have seen what time it was from the clock that hung on the wall, but watching the sky grow dark in the early evening, while she sat at the cluttered table, gave a certain thrill of being caught, well after school hours.

Yet, she needed this, she felt, after being turned away like she had earlier that day. Work, even clandestine work, was her salve, her shield against the troubles of the world. It kept her focused on success, and it kept her mind from her detractors, even if they were people she called her friends.

On the table top were percolating, half-filled chemistry glassware, a fired-up Bunsen Burner, small sample boxes of raw chemicals, including specimens of Fleach's Folly Factory's discarded roller-coaster track that metallurgically matched the cheap Chinese steel from Creepy Spooky Terror Land's own tracks, dark, finely powdered mineral, and her dead counterpart's bequeathed journal, carefully guiding Marcie along on every step.

Over the lit Bunsen burner, was held a wide-bottomed flask, already partially filled with clear liquid from an earlier preparation. Wearing protective gloves, she carefully adjusted the Burner's temperature with one hand, while she raised a long-handled clip that held a test-tube filled with a clear-white liquid, in the other.

"Here goes," she whispered, breathlessly, hoping that she followed the instructions to this scientific witch's brew to the letter.

She steadily poured the fluid from the test-tube into the flask and watched.

The two chemicals agitated in the pouring, and then, a reaction occurred that turned the mixture into a transparent vapor that consumed the contents and expanded in the flask's volume.

Fearing that the vapor would dissipate as it left the neck of the glass container, Marcie put down the test-tube and holder and scanned the table for a cork to stop the leak, but what happened next, astounded her.

The heavy and open flask, still trapping some of the gas by nature of the shape of the container's bottom, began to slide up from the clamp, and impossibly, rise from over the Burner's flame. To Marcie, this was the closest thing she experienced to magic.

The secret of Super Helium, at last, was the fact that it wasn't really helium, at all. It was not a lighter-than-air gas, but something much more!

Helium had to be held in a container, for its natural buoyancy to be utilized, but this gas proved to be radically different. It didn't need buoyancy to lift a container.

Marcie's mind argued the point with her eyes. The flask shouldn't have even risen, it was far too heavy, but not only was it rising to an appreciable height over the table, it did so, even as the Super Helium was puffing out of its top.

Wanting to end this inner debate, Marcie started to piece the effect together. Instead of buoyancy, the gas dramatically altered the atomic structure of the thick glass, making the flask _itself_ , lighter than air. Nothing else could account for it.

As she found herself staring at the bottle drifting before her, Marcie wondered if this feeling of profound incredulity was the same for the alternate Marcie, when she stumbled upon this discovery of the age.

Because that was what it was, a chemical miracle, a substance that made lighter-than-air applications for Helium completely obsolete, freeing up the dwindling natural reserves of He those other nations, at least, in the old timeline, had, so that they could fully divert them towards industrial and medical uses.

But, as the profundity of her friend's gift settled over Marcie, she stood stunned at the depth of the possibilities. This was just what scientists, like her, lived for, and she realized that it wasn't even the full scope of its potential.

For centuries, transportation had shaped the course of the Human race, from culture, to trade, to warfare. Now, aerospace technology would take a quantum leap forward with this new substance. Newer, lighter aircraft and spacecraft, built for Super Helium-vertical take-offs, would become lighter, still, and even more energy-efficient, saving taxpayers billions of dollars in propulsion fuel costs. In fact, this technology, combined with newer designs from the automotive industry could, very well, create the first American flying car in a citizen's lifetime.

None of this would have been possible if that inventive, otherworldly Marcie Fleach hadn't reached out from beyond, like some bespectacled Prometheus, and written a new chapter in _this_ world's destiny. Marcie gave a grin of wistful pride at her friend, and swore that it was be an accomplishment that no one would dare refute.

"Yes!" Marcie shouted, in her success in replicating her personal, scientific Holy Grail.

The sound of the classroom door, suddenly opening, startled the joy right out of her, and all of the rehearsed excuses and lies as to why Marcie was still in school, scattered in her mind, like a frightened flock of birds, as someone walked into the room.

"Hi, Marcie," Suzie Chan said, waving casually to her. "I had a hunch that you'd be in here, after I heard one of the science teachers complain about missing a case of powdered stelegnite, earlier this week. Trying to make lead into gold?"

"Actually, it can be done, if you leave lead in a nuclear reactor for a long period of time," Marcie replied, thoroughly thankful that it wasn't a school employee, and that Suzie didn't notice the weightless bottle quietly bobbing against the ceiling. "Hi, Suzie. I guess being a detective runs in the family, huh?"

Suzie's face fell, almost imperceptibly, as she took a seat next to her. "It's, kind of, funny that mentioned that, because I wanted to talk to you about-"

"Yeah, I know. I heard the news," Marcie nodded, soberly. "Everybody's lost someone they knew outside of Crystal Cove, which means that-"

"Yeah. My dad is gone," Suzie finished, looking down in inner grief. "My brothers and sisters, and I always, kind of, worried that some lowlife Pop put away would go after him and get lucky. We had no idea that he'd just...disappear, one day. We don't even have a body to bury."

Understandably, Marcie's momentary celebration had to take a back seat to this, and in fact, she felt bittersweetly flattered that Suzie would come to her with her problems.

"I'm sorry, Suzie," Marcie commiserated. "Y'know, when I ran into your dad in Macau, I, sort of, saw him as a mentor, teaching me how to look at problems in new ways."

That brought a wistful smile to Suzie. "Pop liked to talk about your help on that case. We probably would have been headlining for the angels, if you hadn't stayed with him."

The thought of her misadventure in China brought a similar smile to Marcie. "Thanks. I'm glad I had the chance to work with him, one more time, a few months ago. I hadn't known him long, but he was a righteous detective, and a good man. I know you miss him a lot. I know that I do."

Just then, the ringtone of her cell phone chimed in her jacket, interrupting the mood of the moment. After she begged for Suzie's pardon, she answered it.

"Hello?"

"Marcie, it's me, Jason," the boy announced, sounding excitedly jubilant. "I did it! I did it! I'm in!"

Marcie brightened. "You hacked the head? Yes! I knew you could do it, Jason!"

"See, I powered it up, and then hooked it up to the truck's on-board computer, had it run through-"

"Time is critical, Jason," she firmly reminded him, when it sounded as though he would eat up those moments in explanation.

"Anyway, I tricked the head into going into Diagnostic Mode, and it spilled its guts, so to speak, every folder and file, plus the location of where it was sending its distress signal. It's all there!" he squeaked.

"Okay. Let me finish up, here, and then I'll come meet you!" Marcie said, excitedly. "Where are you?"

"The junkyard, but hurry, Marcie," he warned. "They're going to close in an hour."

"All right, I'll be there. Thanks, Jason!"

Marcie's exuberant expression looked as though she hadn't heard Suzie's doleful words, at all. She couldn't wait to get back on the hunt. There was so much to do and plan for. In the middle of being fired-up, like the still flaming Bunsen Burner, nearby, she took a moment to regard Suzie again, and noticed that she was looking at her, a little puzzled.

"Hacking a head?" Suzie asked, suspiciously. "Has that Jason Wyatt kid, finally, flipped?"

"No, no," Marcie shook her head. "It's just a case that we're working on. It's totally okay."

Satisfied with the lie, Suzie continued her talk. "Well, anyway, the rest of the family's been beside ourselves trying to figure out what's going on. We don't know what's doing all of this, or who, but if it _is_ a who that's been doing this, and we don't find him, ourselves, then I was hoping, since I've been hearing around town about _your_ reputation as a mystery-solver, that you could do something for us."

 _'Us?'_ Marcie thought in surprise. _'That could only mean...'_ "For _The Chan Clan_?" she asked, impressed. "Name it."

"Avenge our father," Suzie Chan said.

The words were so stark, that Marcie had almost no response for it. She already knew who was responsible, and was working hard to bringing Greenman to justice, but she kept the secret of that, to herself, so that she would have the satisfaction of personally bringing him down.

Still, this request, like the expression on Suzie's face, and the sound of her voice when she said it, was both unwavering and undeniable.

"A lot of good people are changed or gone because of all of this, like The Wacky Racers and Miss Gator," Marcie said, in solemn memory.

"Does that mean that you'll do it?" Suzie, quietly, pressed.

Marcie, her confidence buoyed by the good news she received over the phone, gave the girl a grim smile, and told her, "You can tell the rest of The Clan, Suzie, that it's as good as done."


	3. 3

_3~_

The image on television showed the establishing shot of a man walking sedately through a forest clearing, unaware that he was being seen by most of the citizens of Crystal Cove.

The next scene was a closer shot of the man, now noticing that he was being recorded and responding with a friendly, peaceful smile.

"Hello, my name is Everest Greenman, former owner and CEO of the EverGreen Produce Company, and I am a warrior for this earth," he said with a nod to the camera. He then gestured broadly to the surrounding woods.

"Can you imagine a time when you heard a bird sing, saw a flower grow, or walked through a forest after a cool rain, and not felt ashamed of how the world saw you?" he asked. "There was a time, good people, when the word 'green' did not mean primitive, but meant beautiful, livable... _powerful_. I brought that word, _and this world_ , back from the industrialized brink."

Greenman was favored another close-up, as he continued his walk. "You've seen the news, and I'm sure that you have questions. Allow me, then, to answer them. I did this. The world that you see, now, I did all of this. I conquered time, and I brought the world back to its senses. If you doubt me, you need only pick up a history book from outside of town, and compare it to what you have, here, to see the truth."

He stopped his stroll and faced the camera, directly, sincerely. "I tell you these things because I want you to join the community of the world. Don't be afraid of change, even if it came to you while you were sleeping. I promise, you'll find yourselves not grieving the death of the old world, but gladdened by it. How many people can say that they were given a fresh, new start in life? I give you a fresh, new _world_ to live it in!

"But, to start anew, you must let go of your old ways. My beliefs say that sacrifice brings one closer to the truth, to freedom and understanding, and to the gods. You must sacrifice the old Crystal Cove, so that you may be ready to live in the new one. Forsake it; for it will not save you, in fact, its power was the very thing that kept you apart from the world and your loved ones. Leave it, if you must, but if you can't, then you must cast it off of you, with fire and ruin."

The camera panned back to allow the background of the clearing to be seen, to illustrate the immensity of what he said, next. "Do this, and imagine a place where every new day opened to new possibilities, every new person you meet opened new doors of discovery and opportunity."

The camera continued to pan back, and then, lifted itself into the sky, the scene ending as uplifting as his final words.

"This is the gift I bestow unto you, Crystal Cove. Embrace the new world, and let me be your humble guide through it. I have merely done the hard part, all you have to do...is believe."

The camera ascends into the clouds, and then, the commercial faded into a calming haze of white.

Mayor Janet Nettles picked up the remote control from her desk and turned off the television in her office, while her husband, Sheriff Bronson Stone, looked slightly perplexed.

"Was that some kind of political ad?" he asked her.

"It might as well be," she sighed, leaning back in her chair. "With the people already worrying about how this _new_ world will affect them, this character comes out of nowhere, and buys up advertising time, and makes his pitch to be the people's savior by telling them to burn their home to the ground, so that he can make it into a, quote-unquote, paradise."

Stone gave a dismissive shrug. "He must be a hippy. He's a hippy, right? He sounds like a hippy. I thought we heard the last of them when I busted that Ringleader guy, a few months back."

Mayor Nettles overlooked his revisionist version of events, and held her chin in thoughtful concern. "All _I'm_ hearing, on the street, is that people are starting to agree with the opinion that I'm losing control of the situation. The last thing I need is a coup in Crystal Cove. I have to be there for my people, and I can't do that if I, somehow, ousted."

Seeing his wife troubled, put Stone on the defensive. No one inconvenienced a Stone and got away with it. "You know, wife of mine, as sheriff of this fine town, I have vast resources and broad powers of persuasion at my command. Just say the word...or not, and I can get this guy off your back, in a hurry, if you get my meaning."

Janet couldn't help but smile. He could always do that. She got up from her chair and walked over to him.

"Oh, Bronson," she said, laying her head upon his massive chest, hearing his manly heartbeat, and wishing it could drown out the thoughts in her troubled mind. "I love it when you hint at coercion and well-meaning violations of civil statutes, but strong-arm tactic won't work. I have to show the people that, even though they're in a panic, they can look to me and my administration to see them through this."

Stone gave her a kiss on the top of her head. "All right, then. No leaning on the fruit cake, but I'll be keeping an eye on him, just in case."

"Thanks, honey."

Stone gave a glance at the clock on the wall and reluctantly broke his hold on her. "Uh-oh, my lunch break is almost over. Duty calls."

"Yeah," Janet said, wistfully. "My duty calls, too."

"Then, I guess those laxatives are finally working," Stone joked, earning him a playful punch in the arm.

"I'll see you at home," she told him.

"Will do!" he answered back, with a jaunty wave, as he walked out of the office.

* * *

Clad in the simple disguise of a lab coat, to pose as a scientist, Marcie left the Clue Cruiser parked by the old, grass-choked path that turned off of the seaside road that wound from the edge of town.

Her hair and clothes rustled against the ocean breeze that played through this elevated area, which lent her a view of thick cloud banks, moving across the sky, like frigates. A small, square building was the only structure standing, besides the crooked, broken, weather-beaten picket fencing that still tried to encircle the property.

Marcie pulled out a folder sheet of paper from her jacket pocket and unfurled it, studying the printed-out map, computer-translated from raw coordinates, which showed the location of where the Questoid prototype had been broadcasting to. It seemed to be the place.

As she approached closer, crying seagulls, possibly alerted to her presence, circled high over the guano-covered roof of an old beach house, a bungalow, which sat two hundred feet from the edge of a bluff that commanded the view of the sky above, the beach below, and the sea beyond.

Stepping through a gap in the fencing, she made her way up the walkway to the rotted stairs and the equally decrepit porch, where she saw a pelican smoothly turn its head to regard her.

She was strongly reminded of her past entry into Quest's facility in old Gatorsburg, with its entrance hidden under the rot of the old Bellow Mansion, and guarded by electronic means via animatronics of local wildlife. The pelican, which was watching her near with its tiny camera eyes, opened its pouched maw, revealing a small keypad within.

Marcie gave a sigh of trepidation, as her hand hovered over the keys. There was no doubt that security was studying her on the other side of that 'bird's' eyes, and if the entry code that the prototype provided, didn't match with their records, then like before, she feared that platoon of quick-witted guards would burst through the front door and overwhelm her before she had a chance to reach her car.

She tapped in the alphanumeric string that she committed to memory, into the keypad, all the while, trying to look as though she had always belonged there.

The pelican said nothing to confirm or deny her, and continued to stare, the gulls, overhead, sounding as if they were laughing at her failure.

The silence and Marcie's anxiety grew by seconds, and she knew that if she just broke and ran, it was all over, so she held her nerve for as long as it looked convincing.

Looking at the keypad, she wondered what she missed, when she noticed a green button below the rest of the key, jogging her worry-addled mind.

"Ugh! Forgot to press Enter, you pea-brain," she scolded herself, in a whisper. She tapped it quickly, and hoped that security hadn't notice her lengthy faux-pas.

"Enter," the pelican bade with a tinny, electronic voice.

Marcie exhaled, gratefully, as the secretly reinforced front door slowly swung open for her, and she walked cautiously into the foyer.

The first-floor interior of the bungalow was naturally smaller than Bellow Mansion's, but no less rotten and decayed, as she moved from the foyer into the neighboring mini-kitchen and towards the breakfast nook, looking for any sign of an elevator.

"If the layout's the same as it was in Gatorsburg," Marcie mused to herself. "Then, the elevator should be..." She turned right.

Next door from the nook was a pantry room. Mentally recalling that the elevator shaft in Bellow Mansion was erected in the center of its first floor, she also remembered the overall size of this building, from outside, and surmised that she was now in the very center of it, so she opened the pantry's weathered door and entered the room.

The 'pantry' turned out to be a narrow, cylindrical room, with an elevator button panel built into the curved wall.

"Hmm, smaller than I remember," she muttered, studying a wall map of the reduced dimensions of this base, six levels instead of the twelve in the Gatorsburg lab; Entrance Level, Administrative/Residential Level, Bio/Chemical Research Level, Electronics Level, Hangar/Storage Level, Engineering Level.

Still, all of the levels followed a similar layout, huge, circular affairs with the main elevator and another shaft that started on the next level, positioned at what would have been polar north and south on a compass.

"Well, here goes nothing," she said, pressing a button marked Two.

The room stood still, but the floor under her shuddered slightly, and then, descended, taking Marcie down into the dim depths of the service shaft.

The curved door of the shaft opened before her, and she exited onto the lobby of the Administration Level. The bright, now familiar, hexagonal corridors were as she remembered them, filled with lab coated staff moving from here to there, on their assigned tasks.

Confident that she could successfully blend in, Marcie stepped out into her role as another white-clad, non-descript lab worker.

The mini-map on the wall next to the elevator door showcased the various rooms on this floor, and she was about to read the marked rooms, when a voice called out to her, feminine and ebullient.

"Hey, stranger! Long time, no see!"

Marcie anxiously turned to the sound to see, unexpectedly, another fixture to a place like this. Tanya, the lab worker that greeted her in Gatorsburg, walked over, upon seeing her.

"Hey, fancy meeting you here," Marcie said to her, sliding into small talk. If there was anyone who could guide her through this place without suspicion, it would be Tanya. "I, uh, guess we all were transferred when the Gatorburg base went up. I just arrived. I would've got here sooner, except for all of the red tape."

"Oh, I hear you. I saw you looking at the map on the wall. Trying to know your way around, again?"

Marcie sheepishly shrugged. "Yeah. I guess I'm always lost. Can you help me? I'm trying to find where computer records are kept, like an archive."

Tanya brightened. "Oh, you want Operations. I'll take you there. It's on my way."

Tanya lost no time leading Marcie along, navigating through the groups of workers in the hallway, with purposeful ease.

"I'm glad you got out when the last base went up," Marcie said, conversationally, yet she was being sincere about that. The woman felt like an oasis of amity in a sea of ill-will. "I wonder what happened."

Tanya waved it away. "Oh, you know. A couple of meddlers find a way to get in, tamper with a time machine, and then, sabotage everything before they high-tail it back to Crystal Cove. The usual."

Marcie chuckled lightly to keep up the pretense, as they reached the gleaming white doors of Operations, the department that oversaw everything in the complex.

"Thanks again, Tanya. You're a life-saver," she said, waiting for the doors to open after pressing the large button on the wall in front of her. "Y'know, I was, kind of, curious. What department did you work for back at Gatorsburg?"

The doors finally parted, terrifying her. A self-satisfied Benton Quest standing in the threshold, flanked by two Questoids.

Marcie gasped at the sight, and then, stiffened and gasped more sharply at the stabbing of a dart fired into her backside at point-blank range. Her consciousness flew away from her, as she collapsed by the doorway.

"I was in Security," Tanya said, holstering the dart gun, and standing over her sleeping captive.

* * *

"I have taken my rightful place, my gods, a seat that I should have never left empty," Greenman said, with solemn pride, to his alter.

"Do you regret leaving the past to follow your destiny, or give us our due?" asked the trio, from their clearing in the mind-forest, in unison.

Unbowed, Greenman stared into their unfathomable eyes. "Never. I left when I did, so I could hurry and catch my prey while he still lived. I took a great chance in changing history, in light of this. He could have been swept away in the change, like so many others, and I would have failed to give my father the avenging he deserved."

"Do you think your words sway the people of this village?"

"I believe so," Greenman nodded. "Despite Crystal Cove standing untouched from the time change, I can use the town's fear and uncertainty to my benefit."

"To what end?"

"As the people's anxiety grows, their desire to lash out at what they don't understand will manifest," he explained. "The mayor and the police will be too busy trying to control them to focus on my devotions, leaving me free to fulfill my oaths to you and my father."

The three gods nodded, approvingly. "Cunning, as always, but be mindful."

Greenman knew who they were referring to, yet again, and he risked their offense by scoffing at their council. "Of the Marcie girl? I will crush her, if she stands against me. I will crush her, _in any event_."

"Be careful, all the same," they warned. "She is the unwitting druidess who will harm your legacy. If she claims victory over you, in her wisdom, she may not travel down the river of time to undo your great and terrible works, but she will unseat you before the false followers, and they will claim her as one of their own. In her ignorance, she will steal your power. Defeat her."

Greenman frowned at such a scenario. Nothing should conspire to undo his efforts, now. "How?"

"By her past actions, she is your mirror," said the cryptic answer. "Use her strength against her."

He was confused. "My mirror? Her strength? Do you mean her intelligence?"

"Something more primal," they pressed. "Consider. Why does she vex you so? What...or _who_ does she fight for?"

There was a moment when Greenman had to slow down from his plans to think of her, her annoying defiance at the undoing of her...

The answer struck him, like enlightening thunder, and he had to smile at the utter cunning of it.

"Of course!" he whispered in awe, to himself, before taking his cell phone out of his silk vest pocket. "Of course."

* * *

Marcie's eyes fluttered open despite the mild headache she was suffering. Vision clearing, she looked around at the dark-colored room she was in.

Three figures stood by a bare table, sitting a few feet from in front of her-Benton Quest and his two bookend Questoids.

As her senses returned to her, Marcie noticed that she was sitting upright in a reclining metal chair, and that, when she tried to stand from it, was securely restrained in that chair.

From her condition, and the spartan environs of the chamber, it didn't take Marcie long to make a conjecture about the place's function.

"What is this, an interrogation room?" she asked the trio, ahead. "Who has that in their laboratory?"

"I do," Quest said, as he calmly walked over to the immobilized girl.

Marcie turned her head to watch her captor, and sighed when it made her had throb. "Y'know, Quest, if you want, I can give you the formula for a much better knock-out solution. None of the headache, all of the fuzz."

Quest nodded, graciously. "Thank you, Miss Fleach. Remind me to ask you for that, while I'm interrogating you."

"No problem. By the way, what happened?"

"Oh, you were caught trying to infiltrate my base...again," Quest answered, circling her chair, patiently. "You see, Miss Fleach, _I'm_ the spider, here, this is my web, and there isn't a single vibration on it that I'm not aware of."

He went to the table and stood between it and her, for effect. "For example, my security and I found it most fascinating that you, somehow, located my laboratory, and then, walked in using an entry code with a Questoid security prefix. That might have something to do with that distress signal that we detected, moving all over Crystal Cove, recently. Fascinating, but then, that's to be expected from the daughter of Lab Rat."

"Runs in the family," Marcie replied, smoothly.

"Speaking of which, your 'Lil Annie cost me a secret laboratory in the swamps. In the swamps! Do you have any idea of how _impressive_ that was? Anyway, I never had the chance to find her and thank her for that, and for burning my boy."

Marcie stiffened. She was reminded of the continual threat her mother was under as long as Quest sought her out, but she would not give the satisfaction of her worry.

"You'll never catch her, Quest," she challenged. "She's way smarter than you."

Quest shrugged and retorted. "She's certainly smarter than you, because, here you are. But, I'll settle my business with your meddlesome mother, soon enough."

"Being meddlesome is in the blood, Quest. I'll stop you before any of that happens," she said, flippantly. "Anyway, where's Greenman?"

"Where are your _manners_ , young lady?" Quest asked, coolly. "You will refer to me as _Doctor_ Quest."

"Maybe, if you still _were_ one!"

The scientist gave her an intimidating smirk that spoke of dark things yet to come. "Still defiant, hmm?"

"You don't scare me, you quack! Now, where is he? I know you two are working together."

"Who knows?" he sighed. "He comes and goes, as he pleases. He's probably at his home, in the woods, communing with the spirits, or talking to animals, or some such nonsense."

Marcie was taken aback by his knowledge of the man. "Then, you know that he's a druid?"

"That is what he claims, well _that_ , and he needs my help with his mad, little crusade," Quest scoffed. "Yet, according to the local news, it's not so little, hmm?"

"Obviously," she muttered. "So, let me hazard a guess. You moved the Hour Arch from Gatorsburg, and then, allowed Greenman to go back in time to start his crusade and make the world pagan. But, what I don't understand why you'd help him do all of that, in the first place. Hadji said that you wanted to use the Hour Arch to save your wife and create a new, temporal empire."

Quest sat on the tabletop and decided to explain. Where was she going to go, anyway?

"Well, a partnership was struck because he had possession of the Sundial technology I needed, and was certainly rich enough to fund my work on reverse-engineering it," he said. "However, when I was done, I would need a guinea pig to test it. Just because I had it up and running, didn't mean it was ready for human trials, just yet. No matter what you may think of me, I am still a scientist.

"In any event, Greenman was so keen to jump into the past, and do whatever he was going to do there, that he couldn't wait. My people and I were just lucky that we moved operations, here, and that this town, somehow, protected itself from the end result of Greenman's little sojourn."

"What about your wife?" Marcie asked.

Quest sighed. "Greenman altered history so much, at this point, that I'm not even sure that my wife is still around. Theoretically, her personal history would have changed, as did everything else, so maybe, she's exists in this new timeline as someone who doesn't know me."

Then, he gave a tight smile of triumph. "What I am confident of, however, is that with history changed, my past is forever expunged. I'm a free man, with a new world opened before me and my science. As far as I'm concerned, my wife belongs in the past, whichever past she's currently in."

"What a romantic," she scoffed.

"As for the Temporacratic Imperium of Quest, it will still come to fruition, on the undone history of Greenman's moronic crusade, once he's eliminated, of course," he said, ignoring her jibe.

"So your stringing him along to get everything you can from him, and then, you're going to go back to before he started all of this, and undo everything he did?" Marcie asked, fascinated that her prime adversary was being two-timed by her secondary one. If only they could wipe each other out.

Benton stood up from the table, finishing his tale, and eager to move on. "Life is full of little betrayals, Miss Fleach. With a fully-tested Hour Arch, my trusted inner circle, and a growing, manufactured army of Questoids, history will soon be getting a serious make-over. But, that shouldn't concern you, anymore. I have to leave, now, to see to that new history, while I let Jonny see to you."

He looked back at the automatons that stood obediently on the other side of the table.

"Watch her until my son arrives," he ordered them.

Then, Quest muttered, as he departed through the room's opening door, "I just hope he doesn't leave too big a mess, this time."


	4. 4

4~

Four levels below, in a computer lab in the Electronic Level, a programmer was preparing to leave his station.

"I'll be back," the programmer told his fellow co-worker, who was manning her own station, nearby. "I'm gong make sure we have enough supplies."

"I hear you," she said, absently, while she applied herself to the complexities of an algorithm. "I already hear how Admin chewed the Head Office's head _off_ for another early request for motherboards."

The programmer sauntered past cubicles in the office and, finally ducked into the nearest supply room, and locked the door.

Stepping away from the door to prevent eavesdropping, he pulled out the cell phone that he has set to alert him to calls by vibrating, and answered in low tones.

"Hello? Yes, I found all the bugs I could find in the program. I was going to test it during the next Power-Down cycle-What? _Now?_ But, I can't be sure that it will do what you-Okay...for _them_. It'll take a few minutes to slip it past all the fire walls, but I'm going to run it, now."

The programmer turned off his phone, tilted his head back, sadly, and gave the sigh of a man who had made a desperate deal with a pagan devil.

* * *

The two Questoids keeping watch on Marcie stood unmoving across the room, staring at her with stoic expressions. If it was meant to unnerve her, it failed, only making her exceedingly bored, all things considered.

"Y'know, guys, I knew your prototype. Strong, fast...stupid. I was his first target. He's retired, now, but if you want, I can take you to him."

The room's door slid aside, and because of her head restraint, Marcie couldn't turn her head to see who was coming in, but she frowned in fear at who was expected, that dangerous creep, Jonny. If his troubling reputation with the girls he met were to be believed, then she expected a rough time to be had with him, and that was before he set to work doing whatever his father sent him to do.

"Joanie, didn't your father ever tell you that it's not nice to stand up a lady?"

She could hear footsteps...too many for one person.

She strained her neck to turn just enough to see the almost back-lit silhouettes of a small group of scientists filing into the room. One approached her guards, while the other two flanked her with silent purpose.

"Excuse us, but we're from Quest Children's Research, and we're developing a new kind of candy," the smallest of the three researchers explained. "Would you two be so kind as to pop one of these in your mouths? We're testing to see how strong they are, before they go to market."

Since both were duty-programmed to do whatever was required to serve the interests of Dr. Quest, the machines took one of the small spheres offered, with one of them thinking to ask, "What are these?"

"Jawbreakers," the smallish scientist told him. "Give 'em a bite."

They placed the confectionery into their dry mouths, maneuvered the candy onto their molars, and crushed them, releasing superconductive fluid and the waiting thunderbolt of the LEMP capsules.

A lightning storm exploded in their skulls, with their brains, in close proximity to the discharge, having their delicate components destroyed. They collapsed with heavy thuds, soon after.

"Make a note," Jason said to the two scientists behind a stunned Marcie "Too tart."

"How did you guys get here?" Marcie whispered, while Daisy and Red unscrewed the restraints from her. "How did you know where I was? I mean, in the base?"

"Ask Jason," Daisy said. "He came up with the game plan."

Jason self-consciously rubbed the back of his head, explaining, "Well, when you came by the junkyard last night to see me, I took the liberty of putting another one of my trackers on your jacket, and then, told the others where you were going, afterwards."

Marcie stood from her chair and rubbed the circulation back into her wrists. "Well, it's not like I don't appreciate this, guys, but I thought that you weren't going to help me on this one."

"Yeah, well…" Red muttered. "When you left, we had some time to think about...us not helping you, and how it looked. We felt like sludge in an oil pan. The whole town's losing its cool, and here we were, not putting our heads together on this."

"But, what about your folks?" asked Marcie. "Didn't you want to stay with them?"

"We did," Daisy admitted. "We wanted to help them, but then, we thought about all of the other people we've helped, along the way, and then, we realized that we could do it, again, that we can help everybody. We can't stop that now, Marcie."

"Yeah," Jason added, inwardly moved by the growing camaraderie. "You're, kind of, stuck with us, and that means that we have a mystery to solve."

"You, guys..." Marcie said, giving a self-conscious smile of pride at the band she was lucky enough to have found herself with.

However, before the spirit of concord could develop anyone further, the small lights in the room switched to a fiery neon red, accompanied by a shrill alarm, which reminded Marcie of a question she had asked her friends, earlier.

"Uh, tell me again how you guys got inside?"

"We used the same code that the prototype gave you, to get in here," Jason said, fretting and looking up at the blood red lighting.

"That code had a security prefix that gave me away, when I used it. They'll be coming for all of us, now!"

"Then, we better burn rubber!" Red said, leading the others through the open door.

* * *

Jonny Quest nimbly tore down the corridors, shoving aside lab workers, assistants, and programmers, on his way to the interrogation room.

Coming to a skidding halt by the small chamber, he slapped the palm button on the wall, and watched the door slid open, with rising anxiety.

In the crimson hellscape of the room's interior, two inert bodies were lying on the floor, lifeless eyes staring out into nothingness, and mouths agape with leaking fluid. Jonny didn't care about the pair of robots, but what did distress him was the empty chair with the loose restraints.

Leaning out from the room's threshold, Jonny alerted his father in the fastest, most direct way he could think of.

" _Pop!_ " he wailed.

* * *

Hopefully hiding in plain sight, the gang frantically blended in with the other perturbed lab coats in the reddened corridor, moving past the workers, as their cover either stopped in confusion, or ducked into side rooms to avoid security barreling down on _them_ for some imagined offense.

Marcie looked around the hallway, when she wasn't looking over her shoulder for pursuit, and noticed that none of the few landmarks or features that she had seen in this spartan passageway were familiar to her.

"Red, where are we going?" she asked him.

"The elevator we came in on. It's around here, somewhere!" He then saw an elevator lobby up ahead of them.

But, the fear of being lost didn't leave Marcie. In fact, it intensified. "Wait! I saw the map," she said. "There are two elevators, on this floor, but I think we're going the wrong way!"

"What?" Red exclaimed. He didn't need to hear that.

Commotion behind them caused the gang to swivel their heads to the sound of an angry, blonde teen in a black t-shirt recklessly parting a path of workers before him, like a plow, heading in their general direction.

"No time thinking about it!" Daisy said, reaching over and hitting the elevator call button, its doors opening with a grateful speed. "Get in!"

The group ran into the car and closed the door with a desperate button press to a lower floor, just as Jonny, finally, reached the lobby to look around this wider area, and get his bearings.

As the car descended, the gang leaned against the curved walls, listened to piped-in Muzak, and counted their blessings, while their caught their breaths.

Jason brightened in recognition upon hearing this particular cover song. "Hey, I know that song."

The elevator reached the summoned floor and its door slid open to a pair of waiting scientists, who allowed the faux researchers disembark.

However, as soon as the pair entered the car, Daisy turned and warned them, "Be careful going up there. They caught somebody raiding the lunch room fridge!"

The door closed on the befuddled two, as the gang started to leave the ruddy-lit elevator lobby.

"Where are we?" Daisy asked, studying the features of the hallway.

Noticing another map hanging on a wall in the lobby's periphery, Marcie gave a look, and said, "Residential Level. We have to get back up and find the other elevator, if we want to get out of here."

Red shook his head. "Not until it cools off up there. Let's lay low, for a while."

"Works for me," Jason agreed. "I just hope there's room at the inn for us."

Still studying the map, Marcie pointed to a section of it. "Hey, there are some guest quarters near here. They might be empty."

"Lead the way," Red nodded.

She guided the rest up the floor's main corridor, and then, took a turn into a side hall lined with four widely-spaced doors.

Without fanfare, Red moved up to the one marked VIP, but was stopped from entering, due to its security card reader by the side of the closed door. A sharp jab with his elbow, smashing the reading plate into falling shards, was his rebuttal to that.

He waved Jason over to his handiwork and whispered, "Do something with that."

Jason gave a dubious sigh, while peering into the tangle of wires, leads and connections, and then, proceeded to work on hotwiring the reader with pudgy fingers.

Footsteps coming from the far end of the corridor made the gang turn their heads down the small hall to the sound, in silent terror.

"C'mon, Jason," Marcie whispered.

With a petulant spark, the door hummed opened, and they jumped into the foyer of the suite, just as Questoids and a security guard marched through the hall.

Hearing something, a Questoid looked down the side hall where the VIP room was, and was about to step in and notice the broken pieces of the card reader's face on the floor, when the human security guard called out to him.

"There's nobody in there," the human reasoned. "Mr. Greenman hadn't come back, yet."

Satisfied with the information, the inquisitive Questoid turned away from the mouth of the side hall, and joined the rest of the posse.

Jason, his ear pressed hard against the door, tried to hear through its thickness, but decided that, since the door hadn't yet opened on them, it must be safe, and stepped away.

"I think they're gone," he whispered, rejoining them in the living room.

"Nice joint," Red commented, while they took in the cozy opulence of the place. "I'm glad I picked it."

"Let's check to make sure that it's empty, guys," Daisy suggested, walking over to the small dining room. The rest split up and, quietly, inspected the other rooms for occupants. Finding none, they collectively began to feel safer.

In the study/office where she searched, Marcie sat in the chair by the room's desk, to rest.

She glanced, admiringly, around the chamber, nodding at the ample library on the far side, and the tasteful appointments within, the decor and the furnishings, the desk before her, and the open book on top, with the red Gaelic scribblings written among the otherwise English text.

The incongruity of the book made Marcie bolt into a sitting up-position. "Huh?"

The rest of the gang, hearing Marcie's voice, gathered in the doorway of the study to see her laughing and looking through a thick, weathered book.

"Marcie, are you all right?" Daisy asked.

Marcie looked up from her perusal of the tome, saying to all of them, "Guys, I never felt better! Do you know whose guest room this is? Greenman's!"

Red sulked, "Aw, c'mon, Marcie! You didn't even give me a chance."

They entered the room and gathered behind Marcie, as she thumbed the pages, gleefully.

Daisy peered at the Celtic words, trying to read the English that it haphazardly covered. "What kind of writing is that? I don't understand it."

"I can't translate it, myself," Marcie said. "But, I do believe that it's Gaelic, the native language of Ireland and Scotland."

"Then, why is it all over the pages?" Jason asked. "What kind of book is this?"

Marcie gave a grin, closing the book and showing them the worn cover.

"A history book?" Red asked, incredulously. "You're getting overheated over a history book?"

"Not just any history book, Red!" Marcie pointed out, with pedantic happiness. "A _world_ history book!"

"Huh?" the rest of the gang exclaimed.

"This is how he did it, how he planned all of his strategies, how he _won_!" Marcie stressed to them.

"What are you talking about, Marcie?" Jason asked.

"Greenman traveled through time, remember? He changed history, _world_ history, and he did it with the help of this world history book. It told him every event and every war that took place in the past, and he used that knowledge to win his war against the other religions!"

"You mean, like a cheat code?" Red asked, surprised that such a simple object, like a book, could do so much damage.

A thought that Marcie shared, as she contemplated the awful power that sat in her hands. "The _ultimate_ cheat code, guys. Jason, go out to the foyer and listen by the door. If anybody comes in, come back to us, and we'll hide. In the meantime, the rest of us are going to look for more clues. We've got him, guys. We've got him."

With that, Marcie stood from the desk and walked over to the bookshelf to see if other incriminating folios could be discovered, while Daisy spotted a wastepaper basket by the desk and began to root around in it, and Red, unsure of what to look for, gave a shrug and knelt on the carpeted floor, hoping to get lucky.

Daisy dumped the basket on the carpet and started sifting through the crumpled balls and creased sheets of discarded paper, looking through each piece of trash that caught her eye for information. Then, something elicited her attention.

"Well, we know that this Greenman guy is rich and likes his stadium seats," Daisy quipped, as she flattened a piece of printed paper. "It looks like he booked the whole building."

"Huh?" Marcie asked, turning to see Daisy's find.

Daisy held up a creased receipt with the office of Aerodrome Stadium stamped as a letterhead. Below it was Greenman's payment for use of the entire stadium for one week.

"What would he need a stadium for?" Marcie mused, before Red stood up from the floor.

"Y'know, this clue stuff would be better, if they were easier to find," he groused. "All I found was rug burn and some stupid seeds."

"Seeds?" Marcie pondered. "Hmm, better take them with us, Red. No telling what they could mean."

"It could mean that this guy's a messy eater," Red said, picking the seeds that he could see, off the floor. "And we better motor out of here. The more we're on the move, the less chance they'll have to corner us."

Marcie nodded. "Agreed. I don't want to be here, if Greenman comes back. Besides, I think we have enough to work out what he's up to. I hope."

* * *

Sneaking through the hallway and the twilight of the crimson alarm lighting, the gang made a beeline towards the elevator that brought them to that level. If they were lucky and cautious, then beyond the next elevator would be freedom.

Jason pressed the call button, and then, wailed when the door opened to reveal a Questoid on patrol.

Marcie, out of reflex, pulled out an Insta-Ice capsule, and threw it down on the floor of the elevator car. It spread and solidified around the robot's feet, anchoring him, before he could step forward to reach out and pull Jason into the car with him.

The door closed between both parties, and the gang used the time that Questoid had, breaking the ice away, to bolt down the corridor.

The elevator door opened, and the machine exited the car in time to see his quarry put distance from it. It took off in pursuit, a moment later.

Marcie took a second to glance at a large, armored door down the hall, stopped in front of it, and hit the button near it, allowing them to duck inside, just before the Questoid caught up to them. Unfortunately, it also, had free access to the room that they went into, and so, followed them in.

Neither party noticed the small sign stenciled on the side of the door, opposite the entry button, that read _Warning-Garbage Incinerator_. The door closed, and then, locked from the outside.

The room was fairly large and dim, with a single light above the occupants. Marcie and the gang backed as far away from the stalking automaton as room allowed, stopping when they bumped up against the steely wall behind them.

The Questoid, knowing that there was no escape for them, conserved power by strolling slowly towards them, his fingers flexing in readiness to rend and kill them manually, before reporting in.

He was four feet from them, when something in his electronic mind held him fast, and he stiffened to an unexpected halt. New code was wirelessly flowing into his brain, and he cocked his head to the side, in reaction, as if noticing a sound that only he could hear.

Then, he spoke, not so much to the befuddled group, but to himself, as if to drive him on to completing his new assignment.

"By order of the Undying Pagan Emperor, your perfidy will not go unpunished!" the machine said, turning and walking back to the locked door.

Dismayed, the gang stayed where they were, while the robot repeated his proclamation and began to bang on the unyielding door hard enough for it to gong.

"What's going on?" Red asked.

"No idea," Daisy answered.

Before any of the gang could ponder the next course of action, the screech of weighty metal scrapping against metal rang in their ears. That was uncomfortable. What happened next would prove to be downright distressing.

The entire dark wall on one side of the room slowly slid up, releasing a heavy gout of heat to wash through the room's interior, taking their collective breath away.

Moving away from the opening wall, they were close enough to see down a deep chamber whose bottom was obscure from their perspective, but glowed with a hellish light.

Their momentary fear was increased to a panic, when the wall on the opposite side of the one that slid up, began to close in on them by gradual inches, threatening to, eventually, sweep them into the inferno.

Only the width of the room and the slow speed of the moving wall bought the gang time to run to the front door, when the Questoid, noticing the pushing wall, turned his attention to stopping it, instead.

Marcie ran her hands along the door. It was seamless, practically sealed into the frame, when it closed.

"What are you doing, Marcie?" Jason asked, his voice raising an octave as the wall moved closer.

"Looking for a gap in the door that I could pour my acid into, so it could run down and eat the lock. But, it's sealed too tight!"

"The door!" Daisy suggested. "Could the acid eat through the door?"

Marcie gave the door a grim appraisal, then said, "I don't know if I have enough acid, or time for that."

"I'd punch that door down, if I could," Red muttered, admitting to himself that he had no ideas.

But, it Jason, who found inspiration in his words, as he brightened in this deathtrap, and turned to Marcie.

"That's it! We could do what we did with the VIP's lock!"

Marcie looked at Jason, wondering if his fear had broken him. "Uh, Jason, I know Red's strong, but even he can't go through steel."

"No, but your acid can. If the wall is thinner, you can burn a hole in it where the entry button's wiring is, then, I can hotwire the door and open it, just like I did to the VIP lock."

Marcie gave a nod of agreement. The idea was sound enough to try. Remembering where the entry button was on the outside, she went to that side of the wall, pulled out a small flask of strong acid from her inner jacket pocket, and began pouring careful amounts of the liquid against the barrier.

With each tiny splash, more and more of the material was eaten away, running burning troughs down the length of the wall, and opening a rough hole that hissed and yawned wider.

After a few seconds, Marcie stopped pouring to avoid hitting the conduits inside, took her scarf off to dab the hole's edges dry, and then, took out her penlight to give Jason light to work under, as he reached in to disconnect and reconnect leads.

The pushing wall was now three feet away from the gang, and slowly continued to herd anyone or thing from that side of the room towards the waiting incinerator, with the Questoid still banging impotently against it, and Jason still experimenting with wiring sequences to fool the lock's computer.

"Hurry up, Jason!" Daisy goaded. "The door opens inward. If the wall blocks the door, we're goners!"

Jason gritted his teeth, reaching as far as his wide arms could allow, to find a port to plug in a wire that he believed was the one that would unlock the system.

"Almost..." he growled, as the wall was approaching where the door's hidden hinges were.

His efforts were suddenly rewarded with a flash of hot sparks in his face, smoldering hair, and the door suddenly swinging, loosely, inward.

"All right, Jason!" Red bellowed, grabbing the edge of the door and pulling it in as far as it could.

In frantic single-file, everyone leapt through the narrowing crack of the door, made thinner as the wall now pushed against the rest of the door. The Questoid noticing that the door had been opened, tried to catch up to the gang, as they departed, managing to reach an arm through the door's closing gap.

Outside in the hall, the gang huddled at a distance, watching the arm bend and snap off at its weakest point, as the wall's strength overcame the robot's, closing the door after maiming him, and shoving him into the broiling depths of the incinerator.

Jason noticed a burning scent, and squeaked in fear, as he looked up, saw his hair smoking lightly, and beat it out.

Leaving the robot's remains lying in the hall, Marcie and the others jogged back to the elevator lobby. If they could call down an unoccupied car, they stood a better chance to slip away in the confusion.

She pressed the call button, while she pondered aloud, "I wonder why that Questoid acted so strange. He had us right where he wanted us."

"Hey, I'm not complainin'," Red spoke up. "Are you complainin'? 'Cuz, I'm not complainin'. We can worry about _that_ mystery, after we put some miles behind us."

The car door opened, revealing Benton Quest and the rest of Team Quest, shocked out of their apparent desperation to leave, after seeing who stood in the lobby.

"What are you doing here?" Marcie snapped at Benton, equally shocked at what she saw.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Benton snapped back, leading his people out of the car. "The Questoids are malfunctioning! They're going through my security guards, storming the Electronics Level, and destroying my time machine! My beautiful Hour Arch!"

Jonny glowered at the gang, hating to hear his father sound so upset. "I bet they had something to do with, Pop!"

"Indeed!" Hadji concurred. "They all used a Questoid code to get in! Maybe, they did something to _all_ of the Questoids, as well!"

"Yeah, buddy!" said Jonny, staring hard at Marcie. "Why else would all of this go down right after _she_ showed up?"

Race had to nod at the seeming logic of it all. "The kids' got a point, Doc. They must've found out about our new empire, and wanted to throw a monkey wrench in the works."

Marcie gave a though to what Hadji had suggested, a mass sabotage of all Questoids, then thought of the last Questoid to be breached and exploited prior to now. She gave a troubled, suspicious glance to Jason.

A look he recognized, immediately. "You think it was me? No way! I couldn't do all of that! I told you that the diagnostics computer in the truck called up all of the Questoid head's files, not me! I _stink_ as a programmer!"

Marcie considered that. Electronics was Jason's forte, not computer science. She returned her attention to the wayward scientist. "I believe him. Okay, Quest, it's obvious that none of us knew that any of this was going to happen."

"Then, why did you come here?" Quest pressed.

"To get information on Greenman, your partner!" she answered, before a notion popped into her mind. "Wait a minute. You said that you were going to double-cross him by going into the past and undoing everything he did. What if he didn't trust _you_ , and knew you would do that to him? What do you think he'd do?"

Quest wasn't sanguine about being attacked before he waged his own, but he found himself weighing such a distressing scenario, before the simple obviousness forced him to answer.

"He would destroy the Hour Arch, so I _couldn't_ sabotage this timeline," he muttered. "If you're right, then he's not such a crazy eccentric, after all, blast him! It's too dangerous to stop the Questoids. They're too powerful."

He regarded his inner circle, saying, "All we can do is escape and plan our next move."

Then, he turned to the gang. "But, before we do, we owe you for all you've done to us."

"Whoa!" Daisy said, bringing her hands up before the menace that Quest's entourage was radiating. "This is, like, the first time we even met you, guys. Why don't we grab an elevator and beat it, then talk about who did what to whom, later."

Quest, leading his group closer towards the gang, who were now backing away, said to her, "It's _who_ , my dear, and I believe we have just enough time to settle our affairs...now!"

The threat towards Daisy made Red stop his retreat, and crack his broad knuckles. "Hey, pal! I don't like bustin' eggheads…anymore, but I'll do it, if you don't let us go!" he warned Quest.

This caused the scientist to pause in his approach. With a world-weary sigh, he told Red, "Young man, I am a scientist, a theoretician, and a _thinker_. I will not sully my hands by lowering myself to your level."

It sounded multi-syllabic and pretentious, but Red had heard enough of that from nerds that he once bullied, to know a surrender when he heard one.

"I thought so," Red figured, cockily.

Quest casually turned to his bodyguard, and said to him, "Race, I pay you well enough. Dispatch this boy for me."

Race stepped ahead of his employer and strolled over to a surprised Red. "Sure thing, Doc."

From the air of confidence and fighting experience Bannon exuded, Red gave a nervous gulp. This was going to be a challenge.


	5. 5

_5~_

Marcie backed away from Jonny, as he approached and raised his hands at a pugnacious elevation.

"It's your _Misery Date_!" he said, in an evil sing-song voice.

"Sorry," Marcie quipped, while keeping her eyes on him. "You're still not my type."

Jonny smiled, easily. "Well, we'll know for sure, after my dad analyzes your blood from the floor."

Marcie tossed the history book off to the side, for safety, and then, pulled out two capsules from her jacket. She then gave a risky glance away from Jonny to Red to see how he was fairing with his opponent.

Both he and Race's hands were locked in a struggling grip, as they pushed against each other. Red sweated hard, his hands, wrists and arms aching against Race's greater strength, but he managed to hold his own.

However, Red didn't know how to proceed after this. He couldn't pull away from the grasp. Then, his mind was made up for him, as Race, suddenly, pulled Red in and launched a knee-lift into the red-head's midsection, knocking him breathless and loosening his grip.

Race twisted under the stunned Red, scooping him up into a Fireman's Carry, before tossing him off of his shoulders towards a terrified Jason, who yelped and jumped out of the way, as Red crashed into a nearby wall and crumpled onto the floor, in a heap.

As Herring got, unsteadily, back on his feet to meet Bannon, again, Hadji quietly stalked Daisy, as she kept a distance from the Indian. She didn't know what he would do, since he was calmly holding his hands behind his back, as he strolled towards her.

"Keep away from me, you, or I'll ruin my manicure on your face!" she warned.

Hadji stopped a few feet from her. "You needn't worry about me, miss. Unlike my friend, Jonny, I would _never_ hit a lady."

Daisy dropped her guard upon hearing that. Was he going to subdue her some other way? At least, a non-lethal way?

"Really?" she asked, slightly surprised.

"Indeed," he said, bringing the fingers of one hand up to touch one of his temples. "However, _this_ is totally different."

"Wha-" was all Daisy could utter, before the combined sensation of an ice cream headache and an icepick in her brain drove her to her knees, clutching the sides of her skull and wailing.

"Daisy!" Marcie called out, stopping her retreat and watching her friend suffer, giving Jonny time to close in on her and scoop her off her feet into a painful bear hug.

Her creaking spine and torso throbbed in agony, and her breath left her with every hiking lift and squeeze he gave. Even his laughter made his grip around her midsection constrict more.

"Usually, I'm not so touchy-feely," he joked as his arms closed around her, endeavoring to squeeze the life out of her. "But, that's what you make me feel when I'm around you!"

If Marcie had a rebuttal to that, it came out as a gasp, as her perception became light-headed.

"You're probably wondering how I got to be so strong," he said, as her kicks and strength began to wane. "I'd lie and say it was clean living, but actually, it was science. See, when your mom burned me in Gatorsburg, my dad grafted Questoid skin to my torso and arms. I'm tougher, now. _Stronger._ So, I guess I have your mom to thank for that. I'll be sure to do that before Pop gets through with her."

"Not...touch...my _mom_..."Marcie managed to cough out, before trying to think of what he said about his torso and arms, earlier. He was still vulnerable, somewhere.

"I didn't get that," Jonny said. "What did you say?"

"Head's...up..." she gasped, seething in a breath. She took the hand that held an Instan-Ice capsule, held it high over Jonny, and smashed down, hard, on the crown of his head.

She ignored the pain of the capsule's broken shell stabbing into her palm, as she dropped to the floor and watched as the capsule's contents flowed down Jonny's head, face, and neck, cooling, solidifying, and then, expanding into a rough, incasing ice block, robbing the boy of air and sight.

He fell to his knees, punching, slapping and banging his fists against the cold, thick mass, in a suffocating panic, as Marcie took a breath of her own, and called out to Daisy, again.

In her agony, Daisy opened her eyes and glanced in Marcie's direction, seeing a capsule rolling towards her. When the sphere came close enough, she snatched it from the floor, focused in on Hadji through gritted teeth, and threw it, hard, on the floor, by his feet.

The acrid, irritating smoke exploded and billowed around him, breaking his concentration, immediately, as he choked, coughed, gasped, and temporarily, lost his vision.

Hadji, clumsily, tried to fan away the miasma and back off, but then, a foot whipped into his crotch, making him collapse to the floor with a surprised squeak, as Daisy, rushed back from the mist, after her counter-attack.

Red, sporting a fresh black eye, stepped back to take the time to size Race up. The man was a stronger and a more experienced fighter than he was, Red had to admit, but as soon as Race took a step closer, Red, instinctively, reacted.

He moved forward, as well, and Race thought he was closing in for an attack, until Red's foot stamped and pressed down onto Race's.

The unexpected pain of his toes being crushed, took Race out of his focus for seconds, allowing Red to come up and ram his left fist into Bannon's gut, winding him, momentarily. A following haymaker to Race's eye, in retaliation, drove him back, stumbling.

Race gingerly blinked his bruised and aching eye, as he caught his breath, with a cough, against the angled wall behind him.

"A dirty fighter, huh?" he asked, giving his opponent a respectful nod. "I like that."

The sight from the corner of his good eye of Jonny passing out, however, put all eagerness of fighting Red out of him. With a grunt, he leapt over to the boy, and laid him down on the floor.

With no tools on-hand, Race shook his head.

"I'm sorry, kid," he apologized, quietly, as he gripped both sides of the boy's frozen head and slammed the back of it against the floor, cracking melting chunks free with every rattling blow, until the rest of the ice slid from the teen's wet, red face, like a mask.

"Jonny!" Race called to him. "Can you breathe, Jonny?"

Jonny's eyes fluttered open, looked stupefied at his savior, and muttered, "I missed you, too, Mom." Then, he slumped in Race's arms.

Down the hall, away from the chaos of the fracas, Jason saw Benton Quest calmly walk up to his location, a small staff with a glowing tip, brandished in his hand.

Jason knew that he wasn't a fighter, and that he didn't like pain of any sort, which he knew Dr. Quest would introduce to him with that device in his hand.

He backed away, and then, stopped when his heel touched something on the floor. Reaching down, he picked up the severed arm of the luckless Questoid of the incinerator and pointed it at Quest, in a quaking defensively.

"Uh, speaking as, uh, a fan of your work, before you went bad guy, sir," Jason stammered, as a quizzical Quest closed in. "I was wondering, when you designed your Questoids, did you ever place individual back-up generators in the limbs?"

Quest stopped and considered his question as a last request, wondering why he would ask it, and then, said, "Yes, I did, young man, to save space in the torso region. Why do you ask?"

With a thrust, the Questoid's hand was rammed up into Quest's throat, and with a deft twist of some trailing wires from the torn shoulder linkage that connected both the ancillary power supply and the finger servos, Jason had the robotic hand clench tight around the scientist's windpipe.

"Just curious, now, call them off," Jason warned him, shakily, bringing a sputtering Quest back to the combat zone up the hall.

Hadji, leaning against a wall to catch his breath and clear his vision, and Race, still holding up and tending to a weakened Jonny, saw an unassuming Jason guiding Benton forward, as if handled in a man-catcher.

"Hey, what are you doing to the Doc?" Race bellowed.

"Tell them," Jason, nervously, ordered Quest.

"Race...take Jonny and Hadji...to the...hangar," Benton choked out, spots of light dancing in his view. "We're...leaving..."

Bannon wanted to rush towards Jason, disarm him, and then, punch his rotund body through one of the walls, but Benton, Jonny, and Hadji needed him, and every minute that passed was another level taken over by the traitorous Questoids.

"Hadji," Race called out. "Help me with Jonny. We're out of here."

"Right," the Indian wheezed, coming over and putting an arm under his childhood friend, while Race led them into the called-down elevator.

After they entered the car, Jason guided Dr. Quest in, as if he were a cobra. With the wires' leads twisted apart, the hand sprang open, leaving red finger marks on the scientist's neck.

Benton favored the teens a look of genuine, honest hate, and whispered through his sore throat, as the door began to close, "My genius will finish you."

The descending elevator cut both adversaries from one another, leaving the gang to ponder the hanging threat Dr. Quest had left them.

"Let's wait for the next one," Marcie joked, somberly.

* * *

"Deja vu," Marcie muttered to her friends, while walking through the chaotic gatherings and mass exodus of the escaping scientists and security, outside the rotted bungalow.

"You say something, Marcie?" Daisy asked.

"This is what happened in Gatorsburg, at least, the _old_ Gatorsburg. Lab rats leaving a sinking base. Where did you guys park?"

"By your car," said Jason.

Summoned buses drove off the road and trundled onto the open field, waiting to pick up the fearful and disillusioned, as the gang approached their waiting vehicles.

Marcie was about to open the door to her VW, when a sudden roar startled her and everyone outside, as all watched a white, modified private jet climb from the direction of the cliff face, and then, power high over the Pacific, that early evening.

"I guess those guys we tangled with, bugged out," Red reasoned. "What happens, now?"

"Well, Quest bowed out as my lead to getting information on Greenman, since Greenman tried to liquidate their partnership...by liquidating the _partner_. So, at the moment, Red, your guess is as good as mine," Marcie shrugged, tossing the history book into the front passenger seat, and then, stepping into her car.

As the others piled into Daisy's sports car, the cell phone in Marcie's jacket chimed.

"Hello. Oh! Hi there, Schrödinger. How are you?"

"I'm fine, Marcie," the cat answered. "However, you must come over to Sundial, at once. Something...has happened."

She could only think of one thing that mattered to her, at all, there.

"Hang on, Schrödinger!" Marcie told him, while starting up the car. "I'm on my way!"

She called out the rest of the gang. "Guys, something's up at Sundial! Follow me, there!"

* * *

The Siamese sat on top of his desk, watching the door of his office open and admit four teens, one of them, looking a little more anxious than the rest.

"Thank you for being so prompt," Schrödinger said, as he walked over to where the concealed monitor's controls were and batted at the button that revealed the screen from behind the large, wall portrait.

"What's going on?" asked Marcie. "Why did you call us?"

"Someone important wanted to speak with you, personally," the cat explained, as the monitor focused and corrected resolution to bring forth the image of a surly-looking, world-weary man with iron eyes behind his tinted glasses.

"Mr. Ellison?" Marcie said, recognizing the man more as the author, and not a university professor. "You wanted to see me?"

"Yes, I did, and it's _Professor_ , dearie," he corrected. "I understand that it was you who gave my students a hard time, after you figured out what had happened when they appeared in your world."

"Well, yes, but-" Marcie tried to explain, recognizing, at once, who his students were.

"And you, recklessly, took it upon yourself to try and fix the situation, by returning the displaced, native versions of my students back from the past, early, after you managed to _steal a time machine_ and shanghai _another_ bunch of teens."

"Well, I don't think I shanghaied them, per se-"

" _And_ you did all of this, in the middle of trying to piece together why, in the world, did the _timeline_ of the world just change, completely. Am I _correct_ in my understanding of all of this?" he asked, gruffly.

Marcie wondered if he really wanted to speak _to_ her, as opposed to speaking _with_ her, as she failed to understand why she was called all this way, just to be given a professional dressing down by the man, but she nodded, if just to end this harangue.

"Yes, sir," she said, quietly.

"Taking time from my busy schedule of trying to mold young minds into my own intelligent image, I wanted to tell you that...you did well enough, despite your obvious lack of discipline."

Marcie stood dumbfounded; an expression the professor always felt that he was cursed to see on the faces of the young.

"You remind me of a me, a long ago, when I had more _nerve_ than sense. I'd tell you _not_ to take this as a compliment, but because it came from me, you probably will."

As the others gathered around Marcie, he explained the reasons for his little chat. "I detected the reweaving of this Earth's history before the changes had a chance to reach the Twenty-first Century, and made sure that Mystery Incorporated cut their little road trip, early, to get to Miskatonic University, _at my personal urging_. The Annunaki may have shielded them from this Earth's timeline, at first, but I wasn't going to gamble with them being assimilated into this new one."

"You mean that they're protected?" Daisy asked the professor.

"Yes, dear," Ellison muttered, not liking to be interrupted by this unfamiliar girl. "The ancient, cosmic nature of the town of Arkham protected itself, and its people, from the change in history, just like your Crystal Cove have done, I can assume, by some other means. The kids wanted you to know that they're safe, and to thank you for whatever fool things you've done to help out."

Marcie gave a grateful smile in the face of that gruff message. After all the misunderstandings and struggles of the heart that they both waded through, the wayward teens from a war-torn town in an alternate Earth, were now free to pursue what they had been promised. Despite the chaotic situation in town, she began to feel some order in the world.

"Would you tell them that we wish them all luck?" Marcie asked him.

"Why?" Ellison asked. "They've been loitering in my office, listening to you, the whole time."

Just then, Mystery Incorporated rushed in around their grousing professor, and waved at Marcie and her gang.

"Hey! You guys made it!" Jason cheered.

"Of course!" Fred said. "You don't think a little thing, like history being rearranged, would stop us from a lifetime of mystery-solving, do ya?"

"It's a shame that we had to stop and make a bee-line to Arkham, but, all things considered, it was, definitely, for the best," Daphne added.

"Yeah, like, we would have been gone without a trace, if we didn't get Mr. E's message, right away. Right, Scoob?"

"Yeah! Gone, like an _All-You-Can-Eat Buffet_!" the Great Dane concurred.

"In any case, we wanted to thank you for what you did," Velma said, focusing her words to Marcie, in particular. "You guys threw a bucket of cold water on us to make us see what we were doing to others, here."

"That's okay, Velma," Marcie nodded. "You made _us_ see what it was like being in your shoes. It opened our eyes. I'm just glad that it ended on a high note."

"Oh, I don't think it's quite over, yet," Dinkley said, cryptically.

"What do you mean?" Marcie wondered, aloud, following Velma's slight glance behind her.

Marcie turned, and for a moment of impossible magic, her troubles disappeared under the shy smile of a freed Velma Dinkley, standing inside the office threshold, beside her native associates, while their doubles grinned.

" _V!_ "she shouted, not believing that his day would happen.

" _Sis!_ "Daisy cried out, running over and crushing a laughing Daphne in a swinging, elated bear hug.

Marcie jogged over to her and squeezed the air out of her, with her thin arms. Velma could only hug back, breathless, but happy.

"Miss...you... _too_...Marcie," Velma managed to gasp, hoping that she didn't pass out before too long.

Unseen by anyone in Schrödinger's office, at the moment, Velma pressed her lips together in a tight smile, watching the veracity of emotion shine between the two girls as they embraced, and she tried to bury her own emotions under a bittersweet facade of congratulation.

Like an island of sourness in a positive sea, Professor Ellison grumbled, "Yes, this Kumbaya moment _is_ touching, but I have papers to grade, idiots to fail, and ancient enigmas of the cosmos to explain, and I can't do that if I'm stuck in this greetings card. So, if you don't mind, I'm going to hang up, now."

He reached over to switch the camera off, on his end, but before the screen went dark, the last image the jubilant people in the cat's office saw, that they wanted to take away with them, was the beaming faces of Mystery Incorporated, wishing their counterparts good fortunes, long lives, and endless mystery.

"What happened?" Scooby-Doo asked, grateful for his release from limbo, but confused at how that release had turned out.

"I don't know," Fred shook his head. "I'm not used to all of this weirdness, myself."

"Like, does anybody know if we have to go through any of that status stuff, again?" the native Shaggy asked.

"It's _stasis_ , and no," Schrödinger told him, hiding the monitor, again. "Your doubles are in another place, now. You are all free to live your lives, once again."

Daisy put her arm around her sister's shoulder. "But first, there are some people who've been wanting to see you for a long time, sis."

Marcie, who had released Velma from her death grip, concurred with a grin. "Daisy's right, V! Believe it or not, it's time I took you home to meet the folks!"

* * *

The receptionist sat bored in her kiosk, which sat between the waiting room and the office of a quaint little building in a quiet neighborhood that served as the location of a private practice of a pair of obstetricians.

The two doctors stepped out of the office, focusing on the stacks of folders full of medical records, in their hands, as one of them spoke to the receptionist.

"Good night, Sharon. See you tomorrow," the woman doctor said.

"Oh, Doctor Chiles. There's a gentleman in the waiting area. He said that you know him."

"Did you tell him that we're closing?" the male doctor asked, as the two prepared to pass the kiosk.

A familiar voice from the room ahead, said, "She did, but I told her that you guys wouldn't mind."

Brad and Judy Chiles looked up from balancing their stacks of paperwork, and then, let it fall, in shock, upon seeing their only child looking as tall, strong, and handsome as the last time they had seen him, lo those many long months ago.

"Freddy!" they called out to their son.

Stepping over the forgotten folders, the parents rushed into the room and held their boy, again.

* * *

Paula Rogers examined a dubious angle of the topiary in the family garden, making a note to get in touch with the landscaping people, tomorrow.

"That's the trouble with nature," she muttered to herself. "It's so hard to maintain."

She turned to walk over to where her husband had been inspecting the condition of their roses, when the sound of something weighty crept along the short grass of an enclosed, private space of the garden, nearby.

"Colton," she whispered, aloud, pointing at the hedged section of the yard. "Did you hear that?"

Her husband stood up from his stem inspection and approached the area. "It's probably gophers," he reasoned. "They do come around at night. I'll call the exterminator tomorrow to check it out."

Something far larger than a gopher bounded from the hedges and brought Mr. Rogers to the ground, licking his face, happily.

It took a few moments for him to recognize that tackle, but when he did, he sputtered in surprise, "Sco-Scoobert, you're _here_?"

The family dog stopped his affectionate attack in time for someone else to come from the rent hole in the bushes.

Mrs. Rogers covered her mouth to control the emotions that overwhelmed her, as her son stepped from the hedges, nervously giggling over the trouble the Great Dane had done to their prized garden.

"Like, sorry, Mom and Dad," Shaggy apologized. "I guess Scoob was just super happy to see you guys."

Not one for open displays of affection, Mrs. Rogers went to her son and took him her arms, hugging him for dear life, while Mr. Rogers stood up, again, and brushed himself off.

"Norville! Where have you two been? When did you get back?"

Shaggy gave a wan smile and shook his head. "Mom, Dad, you wouldn't believe us, if we told you."

"We'll give it a try, son," his grateful father assured him, as he patted Shaggy's shoulder. Soon, they all walked into the mansion, under the darkening sky.

* * *

"I didn't know that Cassidy Williams was preggers," Nan Blake told her husband, Barty, upon reading her social magazine, in the lounge of their mansion. "We must get her something for the baby shower, but what do you get the woman who has it all?"

"Hmm," he considered, after putting down his financial newspaper. "What did we get you, dearest when you were carrying the girls?"

"Oh, that's right! A-"

A slight noise distracted the couple, with Barty lifting his head and calling out, "Who's there?"

"It's me, Daddy," Daisy answered from the foyer.

"You're not bringing in more of that junk you keep collecting, are you?" Nan asked, wearily. "Your father and I simply can't abide that scent of motor oil in your room. You smell like that boy you hang around with."

"No, but I think you're gonna like what I _did_ bring with me!" she countered, cheerfully, walking into the living room with a grinning sister in tow.

"Bless my eyes!" Barty gasped when he saw who it was. "Honey, Daphne's back!"

"Daphne?"

Nan's attention tore away from the magazine, and months of worry and lies to her friends came back to her, the only response and the only way she could cope with her youngest daughter's absence.

Water welled in her eyes and the pain of the past was exorcisized upon seeing her. She flew from her chaise, and followed her husband in rushing over to her, not caring how uncouth it was to be seen being carried away by one's emotions, like an upper middle-class commoner.

She showered Daphne with teary kisses, while Barty squeezed his daughter and whispered into her hair about never letting her go, again.

* * *

The warmth of the tea felt good to Angie, as she sat by the register and counted the profits from the day.

She sold more newspapers and magazines that told about the strange nature of the world and how it was disrupting the life of the town, than any other reading material. Such weirdness was right in her bailiwick, and she decided to go into her Weird World forum tonight, after work. Between this, and the visitation she had in the store basement with a ghostly mirror of herself, a few weeks ago, there would be plenty to talk about.

A light knock on the window of the front door interrupted Angie's thoughts. She stood up from behind the counter, and walked through the empty bookstore, towards the locked door.

Approaching the door, she called out. "I'm sorry, but I'm closed. I'll be open, again, at nine in the morning."

"I don't know if I can wait _that_ long," Velma's voice said, amicably, from the other side.

Angie rushed to the window and peered out of it. A few feet from the door stood Marcie, and next to her, was a miracle.

She unlocked the door and pulled it open in haste, ran outside and grabbbed her only daughter in an embrace to rival Marcie's.

"Oh, my little _Velma_!" Angie whispered. "I was so worried that I'd never see you again!"

"Worried...never _breathe_...again..." Velma gasped.

"What was that, dear?" Angie asked, finally, releasing her.

Velma caught her breath and looked at her mother. Months had passed by between them, a veritable lifetime of pining and pain between eras, and seeing the tears running down her mother's cheeks opened up the floodgates within her, as well.

She stepped up to Angie and, gently, hugged her right back, refusing to deny herself the sweet agony of missing her.

"I miss you, too, Mom!" the girl sobbed against Angie's shoulder.

This went for long, necessary moments, as Marcie looked on, beaming with pride that she did what she set out to do, successfully. A family, in fact, _several families,_ were reunited this day, even if hers wasn't, and the satisfaction of that kept the hope alive in her that one day, when all of this craziness was over, she and her family could be whole, once again.

She turned away from the happy scene, and was about to walk to her car, when a hand grasped the collar of her blouse and jacket, and pulled her back.

Marcie stumbled backwards and was suddenly gathered into Angie and Velma's arms. They knew that this wonder couldn't have happened if Marcie hadn't risked so much to make it so. With that mutual hug, they did more than just acknowledge her heroics, they told her that she was and always would be a member of their family.

With a moved heart, Marcie couldn't help thinking how ironic it was that something as strong as a bond could break her into so many emotional pieces.

* * *

"Your folks are really making up for lost time," Marcie said, buttoning up her pajama top and sitting in one side of the wide four-poster bed in Velma's bedroom. "A picnic on the weekend, a trip to the science museum, it's like the town's _not_ going off the deep end. If you have some time, maybe you'd like to come over to my dad's park."

Velma poked her head through the collar of her nightgown, and then, smoothed out her bobbed hair. "Cotton Candy and fast, scary rides? After months of square dances and quilting bees, it sounds like the most fun I could have outside of a lab! Sign me up!"

"If I see my dad, again, I'll move Heaven and Earth to convince him to give you a discount," Marcie offered.

 _'If she see her dad, again?'_ Velma thought, catching that reply and the note of the forlorn that came from Marcie, a sadness that she tried to hide under the air of joviality, one that she was familiar with when it came to her.

She didn't want to dwell on it, but something in her always wanted to help, even if all she could so was listen to the problem.

"You're not seeing him?" Velma asked, quietly. "Is that why you crashed, here, because you and your dad aren't talking?"

Marcie wanted to shove a shoe in her mouth because of her vulnerabilities. Her heart, subconsciously, demanded that her pains be put to words and communicated, when all she wanted to do was make Velma's return to her life as drama-free as possible.

"Ugh! I'm sorry, V. The last thing I want to do is ruin your time back home."

Velma sat on her end of the bed, but reached a hand over to hold one of Marcie's, in consolation.

"Talk to me."

It didn't seem fair to burden her with any of this, but Marcie sighed and, reluctantly, unburdened herself. "It's _Greenman!_ Ever since he showed up in town, he's done everything he could to tear my dad and me down. I know that it has something to do with Dad's amusement park, and now that he forced my dad to sell it to him, I can't help thinking that all the trouble he made for us has something to do with what he's done to the world, so far."

"From what you told me about him, I still can't believe that he was able to go back in time and change the world," Velma admitted. "It was hard enough believing that _you_ traveled back in time. Plus, Crystal Cove is unaffected by the altered timeline? Talk about culture shock. No wonder the town's coming unglued."

"Yeah, it's a mess, all right, V, and it doesn't look like anyone knows what to do about it. Some want to leave town, some want to stay and try to make sense of all of this, and others...they're just lashing out in confusion and taking advantage of the breakdown. Looting, vandalism, it goes on and on."

Velma quietly considered the citizens' options and wondered if her parents had ever explored those same choices, since this situation was getting bigger than was comfortably possible to handle.

"It's a good thing that my parents didn't leave before I could come back," she sighed, gratefully. "I wouldn't know what to do, if they did."

Marcie nodded. "This was the only place I could think of going to when I ran away, and I wouldn't know what to do if they left town, either. But, your folks are strong, V. They're stronger than the weirdness."

 _'What a time to return,'_ Velma thought, glumly. _'Right in the middle of some temporal crisis.'_

She sighed, again. Fearing that Marcie was right about bringing her down with such negativity, she opted to change the subject, and leaned out from under the roof of her bed to glance at the posters of stylish chemical icons and Ska artists on the walls, next to her own posters.

"You mentioned people taking advantage, earlier," she said, slyly. "I see that you made yourself at home in my room, while I was away."

Knowing that she was talking about the posters, Marcie sat up, pensively. "I'm sorry about that, Velma. I'll take the posters down in the morning."

Velma gave an understanding chuckle and reclined across the bed to Marcie's side, holding her hand, again. "It's okay. You don't have to do that. It's cool, kind of like...learning about you, all over again."

"Were we apart that long?" Marcie asked, not wanting to think that so much time had passed between them, that a weird kind of amnesia had set in.

"Maybe, maybe not," Velma said, a little friendly, a little coyly. "But, now that I'm back home, I wouldn't mind a little refresher course in _Marcie Fleach,_ y'know?"

With her impropriety over the posters settled, Marcie smiled warmly and held Velma's hand, as well. "Well, come to think of it, my _Velma Dinkley_ has been kind of rusty, lately. It's just shocking what happens when you let yourself fall behind on your studies."

"Oh, just shocking, and as a former teacher, I suggest that you hit the books as soon as possible," Velma mock-expounded. "I expect you to be an expert on me, before long."

"I'll be an open book, myself, then," Marcie offered.

Velma sat up, looking into Marcie's indigo eyes, and giving her a light scolding. "Don't you dare, Marcie Fleach! I want a subject that's challenging, so don't you go easy on me. Okay?"

Marcie understood what she meant and smiled, again, to convey it. "Well, what would you like? Calculus-challenging, or advanced trigonometry-challenging?" she teased.

Velma gave a stretch and yawned. "Mmm, let's let the future decide. For now, though, let's get some sleep."

As both girls slid under the covers and settled in, Marcie said to her, "All right, but I have to warn you, I, sometimes, hog the blankets."

"Marcie, we've had sleep-overs since we were kids. That's something I _certainly_ know that about you!"

"What a comedienne!" Marcie smirked, before turning off the lights.


	6. 6

_6~_

The offenders, two drop-outs from Darrow University, led the police on a merry chase on foot through the neighborhoods of graffiti-scrawled, boarded-up, and looted shops.

Most of Crystal Cove still had it composure, reflected in such places as the intact residential areas, although some of the homes, too, had been abandoned by owners and families who decided to take their chances outside of town to look for vanished loved ones.

Downtown showed the opposite. By dint and reminder of the services they provided: local government and businesses were easy targets to those with an inclination for selfishness, who were drawn to the opportunities and settings such feelings sought out.

Thus, the sheriff had his hands full, finding, chasing down, and arresting the disaffected and the downright criminal, while his wife and her administration did all the could to calm the anxious populace down, just so the ones that decided that an end-of-the-world, looter mentality could see reason.

The two looters had cut through an alley, and were heading for the mouth on the other side, when a force of muscle pulled one of the criminals from the alley faster than he could react.

Sheriff Stone used the momentum of the youth's run to slam him into the side of a car parked by the alley exit, whereby, he was immediately handcuffed and left sitting, winded on the curb. His partner was similarly captured and restrained by a deputy.

"Man, I haven't worked this hard since _I_ was a lowly deputy!" Stone exclaimed. "It's like herding cats, out here!"

He turned to his deputy, asking, "Is there anything coming in on the radio?"

"Another kidnapping," the officer reported.

"That's three for three," the sheriff sighed. "Okay, call the wagon to pick up this brain trust, and then we'll check it out."

* * *

"I'm glad that I get a second chance to get to know you guys," Velma said, leaning back from the front passenger seat of Marcie's car, to address Daisy, Jason, and Red, seated in the back. "I didn't really get one since we were running for our lives, a little over a century ago."

"Time _is_ funny that way," Marcie said, offhandedly, making a turn from an artery of traffic.

"Okay, I sort of, know you," Velma said to Daisy, pointing to her. "You're one of Daphne's sisters. Daisy, isn't it?"

The Blake sister nodded. "Yep."

Velma pointed to Red, next. "I'm sorry that I didn't remember your name. Things were pretty hectic when we met."

"No problem. The name's Red," he shrugged, giving his thick arm a flex and posing, cockily. "It might not look it, but I make this team run."

"What he means to say is that he makes the team's _vehicles_ run," Daisy said to her, deflated his ego, with a grin.

"Team?" asked Velma.

"Yeah," Daisy continued. "We, kind of, get together and solve the odd mystery or two. Marcie, sort of, got us started on that."

Velma widened her eyes in surprise and turned back to Marcie. "Really? Marcie, I'm impressed! I guess all of those mystery games we played as little girls, finally, rubbed off on you, huh?"

"Oh, yeah. Just ask around town, Velma. People think that we're _amateur sleuths_ , now. It's a pretty cool." Daisy said.

"It's no big deal," Marcie said, trying to play it off. "They just helped keep my mind sharp, and inspired me to, ultimately, look for you, that's all."

Velma gave her friend a proud smile. "And gave you the agency to right wrongs and make sense of the senseless. Is that why you're heading for the Botanical Gardens?"

"Yep. Red found some seeds in Greenman's guest quarters in Quest's lab. We're going to see what they are, so we might know what Greenman's going with them."

"Hey, Velma," Jason interjected from the group, blushing hotly. "You remember _me_ , don't you?"

"Oh, yeah. Hi, Jason," Dinkley nodded to him, mildly. "Are you part of this team, too?"

"Oh, yeah! Not to impress you, or anything, but it was my skill that cracked the code to infiltrating Dr. Quest's lair," he said, coyly, not believing that she was interested in talking to him, and Marcie, for once, wasn't running interference.

He thought that too soon, as Marcie interjected, herself, saying, "Almost by accident, he neglected to say, since he admitted, soon after, that computer programming is not his forte."

"That's not fair, Marcie!" Jason groused, his hopes of initially impressing Velma, sufficiently, dashed. "I got the info out, didn't I? It doesn't, exactly, matter _how_ I did it."

"Here we are, gang," Marcie announced, coming up to the towering, glass architecture of the Gardens, and maneuvering into its parking lot.

* * *

The gang disregarded the earthy scents and warm humidity of the building's grand hothouse and display area, as they walked to a lab coated worker tending to a gigantic Venus Fly-Trap.

The worker turned to them upon hearing their approach. "Hello, how may I help you?"

"Are you Doctor Jarreau?" Marcie asked the man, who answered in the affirmative. "I'm Marcie Fleach. I called here, this morning, to ask you if you could see something for us."

"Ah, yes. What do you have for me?"

Red took out a matchbox from his vest pocket, making the doctor jump back and wail in fright.

"Put those away! Don't you know what fire could do to a place like this?" the doctor railed. "Millions of dollars of rare species could be gone in a flash!"

"Hey! Take it easy!" Red placated. "It's where I kept the seeds. Look."

He slid open the cardboard box, turned it over, and let the seeds fall out, to be caught in the palm of his other hand.

With a deep sigh of relief, Doctor Jarreau accepted the seeds and then, said, "Come with me to the Seed Room. I can identify them, there."

Following the botanist out of the hothouse, they entered a smaller room walled with shelves that displayed Plexiglas cases of various species of preserved seeds, leading up to a table that held a large book titled _'Indices Seminae,'_ next to a magnifying lens built into a lamp.

Jarreau sat there, carefully peering at the lamp-lit seeds, studying its physical details, while he, occasionally, perused the illustrated contents of the book for a match.

The gang gathered behind him, as he straightened upon finding a correlation.

"Ah, good, the Seed List has them. I believe I've found your seeds," he said, before giving a low whistle in surprise. "Where did you get these from?"

"Uh, we found them under a desk," Red admitted. "Why?"

"Because, whoever had seeds better be glad that he didn't have the tree that came with them. These seeds come from the fruit of the Manchineel tree."

"That's bad, because?" Jason asked.

"It's one of the most poisonous trees on this planet." the doctor explained. "It has very, very strong toxins, some of them still unidentified. Its sap contains a serious skin irritant. Heck, just standing underneath it in a rainstorm will cause your skin to blister, all over, if the water mixes with the sap."

"Well, can you burn it, if it's so dangerous?" Daisy asked.

"No," said the doctor. "It's so toxic, it'll blind anyone, if the smoke reaches the eyes. I don't know who would be playing around with this species, but whoever it is, he or she is in a world of trouble."

"Because of the tree?"

"More than that. The tree's not only dangerous, it's _endangered._ It's protected in its natural habit, Florida, so I don't know how your friend got a hold of it, or why he or she would even _have_ it."

"Oh, I think I've got a theory," Marcie muttered to her friends. "But, to put it to the test, I think we better pay a visit to Professor Hatecraft."

She turned back to the scientist. "Thank you, Doctor. You've helped us out a great deal."

"Glad to be of help," Jarreau said. "Now, if you'll excuse me. I have to finish feeding Alice II."

"Low on fertilizer, huh?" Red joked.

The botanist shook his head. "Not really. We're having a school field trip in a few days, and we don't want her having any more... _incidents_."

* * *

In the hallway of Darrow University's Psychology Building, the gang passed by their fourth deputy on their way to the cluttered office of H. P. Hatecraft.

When they reached its open doorway, they saw that Sheriff Stone and another deputy was picking around the shelves of old tomes, exotic trinkets and reliquaries that covered the walls, for clues.

"What happened, Sheriff?" Marcie asked. "May we speak to Professor Hatecraft?"

"Professor Hatecraft isn't here," Stone told her. "The dean says that he and his teaching assistant haven't been in class, so we're treating this as a missing persons case, the third one, today. The professionals are here, now, so why don't you go look for lost pocket protectors, or something."

"Wow, you leave town for almost a hundred years and some things never change," Velma said, offhandedly.

While the police continued to comb for leads, Marcie, herself, glanced around for clues, and saw an open book on Hatecraft's desk, turned so that someone could read it, if they entered the office. The page was espousing on the Roman Empire, but it was the picture dominating the page that rang in her, an exterior shot of the Roman Coliseum.

"The sheriff's right, guys," Marcie spoke up, walking back to the doorway. "It's obvious that he has this case in hand. We better not disturb him, and just _leave_."

The rest of the gang looked perplexed at her change of heart, but the subtle twitch of her head, in the direction of the hall, convinced them to acquiesce and follow her out.

A skull on a small table caught Stone's attention, and he picked it up.

Immediately, its eye sockets glowed and a sepulchral voice hissed from its maw. "I foresee one of your children becoming a ballet dancer!"

The sheriff shrugged, confidently. "Unlikely, Mr. Bones."

"And she will be very talented at it," the skull finished.

" _She?_ " he gasped. " _Noooo!_ "

* * *

"What's going on, Marcie?" Red asked, as they left the Psychology building. "Why didn't you want to check the office for clues?"

"Because, I think we have all we need, Red," she said, heading back to The Clue Cruiser. "The professor left us our best clue, yet, guys, to find not only the missing people, but Greenman, as well."

"So, where to, now?" Velma asked.

"To Crystal Cove Stadium."

* * *

The VW was left parked in the vast, deserted parking lot of that universe's Aerodrome Stadium, colloquially known as Crystal Cove Stadium, while the teens ran, not to the front entrance of the massive, domed edifice, but around to the loading docks and service entrances, in the rear.

With practiced applications of Marcie's acid and Quick Keys, they wend their way deep into the corridors of the building, emerging into the inner arcade of the stadium's main concourse.

Jason suddenly froze. "Do you hear that? It's up ahead!"

Off to the inward side of the concourse, coming from one of the wide archways leading into the central sports arena, the gang stopped skulking, and heard cheering.

Quietly, they approached and entered the cavernous portal, the cheers growing louder, so loud, in fact, that they didn't hear two armed men come up behind them.

"Alright, you kids, why did you leave the university?" Stone barked, marching up to the badly startled group before they went any further.

"Shh!" the teens hissed and shushed, frantically, fearful that their position was given away.

"Don't you shush me!" Stone said, indignantly, yet quieter.

"What are you doing here?" Daisy asked. "You _followed_ us?"

Marcie had to admire the man. "That's pretty impressive, Sheriff. How did you know to do that?"

"You forget that I'm a father, the sheriff said, easily. "I don't trust my own kids, half the time, so what made you think I'd trust you when you didn't stay to give me trouble, like you normally do? I knew that _you knew_ something about the kidnappings, so I followed you."

"Whoa," Red said, leaning against one of the walls of the entrance and giving him a condescending look. "Don't break your shoulder patting yourself on the back, Stone."

"That's _Sheriff_ Stone, to you, Carrot Top," Stone bristled.

"That's always puzzled me," Velma suddenly pondered. "Shouldn't the top of a carrot be _green_?"

"Never mind!" the sheriff yelled in vexation. "You all have a civic duty not to hide anything that you know from me. If you do, that's obstructing justice, however, if you assist me now, I may show you leniency!"

"We're not causing trouble, here, Sheriff, you know that," Daisy told him, hoping he didn't fly completely off the handle, and arrest them for just standing, there. "We were just moving on a major hunch that might help everybody. We would've told you, but what if we were wrong. At least, if you stayed at the university, you might have found something that we could have missed, in the office."

Whether it was because she was successfully sincere, or because he didn't need the aggravation that came with locking up a Blake, Stone, fortunately, took her at her word, which, strangely, didn't make the lawman feel any better.

"All right, I believe you, but only because this wasn't another crank call," he said to them.

"You've been getting a lot of them?" asked Velma.

"Six, today," Stone's deputy, Carlton, told her. "And, we're duty-bound to respond to them."

"If we keep chasing these false alarms, we'll be too worn out to deal with any real crimes!" Stone complained, rightly.

"Maybe that's the plan," Velma pondered.

"Come again?" he asked, perplexed.

"The civil unrest we've been having, these false alarms, and now, the kidnappings? Each one covers the other, too neatly. I think somebody wants to keep you preoccupied?"

"It makes sense," Marcie added, thoughtfully. "Especially if that _somebody_ is benefiting from the chaos."

"Greenman?" Velma asked, knowingly.

"Quit reading my mind," Marcie smirked.

"Greenman?" the sheriff asked. "You mean that hippy that made that broadcast a while ago? How is he mixed up in all of this?"

"His Majesty will be more than happy to answer all of your questions, once I take you to see him," a man said, holding a gun at the group.

"Well, it's about time," Marcie said, turning around to face the arena, and allowing herself to be led, like the others, out onto it.

* * *

The arena was a football field, well-lit under its vast, high-domed ceiling, as the group was led, at gun point, across its expanse.

Mounted high above them, was a Jumbotron, its massive screen dark, while along the end zone of both sides of the field were unmanned television cameras that made the captives wonder if they were to be used to film their last moments.

Ahead of them, from one of the oval arena's two lengthiest sides, sat a raised structure built from the closest, most central seating on that side of the field, a high-roofed, well-carpentered luxury seating box, draped on all sides with gleaming white linen and adorned with gold lame sashes.

On the face of the box was a printed image of a green face, bearded with ivy and crowned with a full head of leaves for hair.

Although there were luxury seats and expensive viewing suites high over the tiers of bleachers, the 'Emperor's Box,' afforded the occupant a masterful view of the field, quite close to the action, yet still high enough to enjoy that action from above, safely.

Seated on both sides of the Box, were small groups of people, and though nothing was happening out on the field, they gave a continuous cheer.

"Who are they?" Velma asked Jason, who was close by.

"Questoids, all of them, like the one behind us."

Velma gave a pensive glance back at their guard. "Those robots you talked about on the way, here? Are you sure?"

"Oh, yeah!" he nodded with experienced authority. "They've got the Uncanny Valley written all over them."

From the dark interior of the Box, someone stirred into standing, coming into the light with a crystal, wine-filled goblet in one hand, gesturing, broadly, with a confident grin to match.

"Ah, entertainment fit for... _me!_ " Greenman exclaimed down upon his visitors, cheerily. "You know, Marcie, your father might have had more success in his park, if he had attractions like this! Welcome to my coliseum!"

"That you booked for about a week, according to the receipt we found in your quarters in Quest's lab," Marcie spoke up, ignoring his taunts. "So, you're an emperor, now? Well, you've got the _megalomania_ down pat! I see that your wind-up audience is here, too. Boy, you couldn't steal them from Quest fast enough, huh?"

"I think I can put them to better use, but don't mind them," Greenman dismissed. "Now, that I have control of poor Quest's laboratory, I'll have them make even more Questoids to fight and serve as my personal guard. Ah! If only I had them when I was conquering the ancient world, it would have fallen in my hands so much sooner than it did."

"You must be Greenman," Velma replied. "My friend, Marcie's, has been telling me a lot about you, most of it, bad."

"And you must be Velma. Marcie's told me a bit about you, too, especially when the sodium pentathol kicked in," he countered.

"It's a good bet that the people your Questoids kidnapped are here, so why are we watching a bad reenactment of _Gladiator_?" Marcie resumed.

"Why, for the same reason my Questoids are here. They're cheering because they're under the impression that you fools are going to provide some sport, in the arena, today, and you know what? You are. You see, I took a page from the hated Romans on how to run a decent event. You will all be the warm-up, before I present the televised first part of my devotions to my traditionalist followers, around the world!"

Stone, who didn't understand one iota of what was transpiring before him, reacted the way he always did when he couldn't wrap his mind around something. He yelled.

"Look here, nut job! I'm Sheriff Bronson Stone, and I'm placing you under arrest for kidnapping, allowing freaky robot scum to walk around the city limits, and running a totally inauthentic Roman coliseum. I mean, where are the lions and gladiators fighting in pitched battle with desperate, condemned men?"

Greenman mockingly considered. "Hmm, well, I see the condemned before me, but it's true that I don't have beasts and warriors to fight for my amusement."

He brought a fist over the goblet he was holding in the other hand, opened it, and released what looked to be three seeds from that hand.

The seeds descended into the wine, and then, he poured the libation onto the turf, below.

The seeds sank deep into the wine-soaked ground, on their own volition, and moments later, the moist soil began to be upturned, large things had germinated within the earth, and now, crawling their way out.

"I suppose they'll have to do," Greenman said, casually, as a green, grim-looking, humanoid, and a pair of quadrupeds dug and tore their way to the surface, shedding the ground from their newborn bodies.

In the overhead light, the warrior's alien features were on full display to be looked on with utter incredulity.

The humanoid stood on splayed, rooted feet, with a large, heavy body of twisted, wooden growth, sheathed in broad, moist foliage. Its head was a large bulb, high-collared with wide leaves in the back, and marked with a pattern that suggested a simply drawn 'T' for a face, which was eye-less, yet seemed to focus on the captives' location.

Its appearance was strange enough, but it soon ventured into the bellicose, when they saw the arms the monster bore.

One wasn't an arm, at all, but another bulb attached at the shoulder, ending in a draping tangle of three fully-articulated tendrils, thick and curling with strength.

The other arm, however, was a jointed bough, whose 'forearm' tapered into a long, flat, sword-like thorn, kept healthy through an umbilical of two roots wrapped around the 'upper arm.'

While the bulb-arm looked to be a manipulator, of sorts, the other specialized appendage looked as though it was meant for a single task: to impale.

Shaking loose soil free from their fern-like manes, and pacing with restless fervor beside the creature, were two large, dog-like specimens of plant life, bosky and entwined with vines that coiled along their bodies, like exposed sinew, and served a similar purpose. Impossible growls escaped from their thorn-toothed muzzles, while sightless heads aimed their hunger and ire at the people in the arena.

"Know you adversaries, my captives!" Greenman called forth. "This is my Thorn Soldier and his Herb Hounds. Creations, newly given to me, from the hand of my namesake! They will tear you asunder before my gods and the world."

"B-But...I'm t-too young to be as...s...sundered!" blubbered Jason, fearing that he would lose control of his body at any minute.

The so-called emperor chuckled darkly at him. "Believe it or not, I once faced conscripts of the enemy not much older than all of you, boy, and they all came away with a great truth. If you feel that you're old enough to oppose me, then you're never too young to die!"

The Thorn Soldier turned from his targets and faced Greenman, raising his sword-arm, respectfully, while his Hounds howled.

With an air of regal casualness, Greenman gave the creature a nod and a wave to proceed.

It turned back to the group, swinging his thorn sword in swiping, chopping motions as it approached, his beasts flanking him, warily.

"I think that's our cue," Velma muttered, backing away with the rest.

"Are there any exits?" Daisy asked the party.

Looking around the arena, they could see other archways, but they were all guarded by Questoids.

"We're closed off!" Red said. "We might have to duke it out, gang. Funny, I never punched a plant before, well, at least, not in anger."

"Well, we might stand a chance if we all stick together," Marcie counseled.

"Oh, are we going to sing campfire songs, too?" Stone quipped, but the fear still edged out.

"No, we cover each other," Velma clarified.

"Forget that! We've got to get out of here, Sheriff! C'mon!" Carlton suddenly called out, breaking from the group and running towards one of the guarded passages that led from the arena.

"Carlton, where are you going?" Stone bellowed, as the two Hounds, without preamble, tore off after their prey. "Come back here! You don't leave your leader behind!"

Carlton huffed, hard, brandishing his service weapon in an attempt to shoot his way through the Questoid gauntlet. The guards, seeing his panicked approach, were motionless and confident. The human wouldn't get far.

Carlton raised his gun, knowing that his aim would be too shaky to serve him, but the heady cocktail of terror and self-preservation had him wasting shot after missed and reckless shot into the molding and finish of the exit's threshold.

The warning click of his spent revolver forced him to stop and fumble for more ammunition to load it.

That was when an impact exploded into his back and lifted him off his feet, making him tumble, face-first, into the turf, the gun bouncing from him.

He gathered his wits and oriented himself on his hands and knees, his already ragged breath gasped away, as he watched the two plant-beasts circling around him, frighteningly close, sizing him up with every pass.

Sore, defenseless, and scared out of his training and composure, Carlton whimpered, as he slowly stood up, feeling every bit the prey that the hunters saw him as.

Before he could wonder why they even allowed him to stand, one Hound pounced on the wailing deputy, and tore him down to the ground, followed, with zeal, by its partner.

The Questoids in the bleachers gave standing ovations and cheered their loudest, yet, while the ones nearest the take down watched the deputy's gradual passing with emotionless eyes.

The group saw the grisly attack in stunned horror, while a desire to help the stricken man, and a need to stay put, fought for dominance in their minds.

"Can someone tell me what the _heck_ is going on?" the sheriff exclaimed, helplessly. "Looters and kidnappers, I can handle, but nothing in the Sheriff's Handbook said _anything_ about killer robots and plant monsters!"

"Get a grip, Stone!" Red told him. "It's harsh, man, but he's buyin' us time. Don't waste it by freakin' out."

"He's right!" Daisy said, fighting to keep her own fear in check. "We've got to think, gang! What have we got?"

"I've got my chemicals," Marcie offered. "I've got my capsules, too, but the ground's too soft to use them."

Velma looked on Marcie with hope. "What kind of chemicals do you have?"

"Two flasks of acid and two Quick Key bulbs. The usual."

"You carry all that with you?"

"Hey, a girl never knows what she'll run into," Marcie shrugged. "I only wish I could carry _more_ stuff."

"Okay," Velma nodded, and then, called out to the rest of the group, "Huddle up!" They gathered around her, at once.

After a quick and animated conference on the Fifty Yard line, the group, at last, broke away, with a clap.

Marcie and Velma gave worrying glances at each other, as Marcie handed her one of her Quick Key bulbs, hoping that they would survive this, after just getting back together.

Then, they all faced the opposing team.


End file.
